


Misrule

by starespressos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, But switching too!, Child Neglect, Circus, Communication is the new sexy, Death happens, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Falling In Love, Glassblower Dean, Horror, Implied suicide that's not a suicide, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Prince Castiel (Supernatural), Quantum locks, Subdrop, Super Minor Transphobia but better to tag than not to tag, Supernatural Elements, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, horror themes, minor homophobia, team switch all the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 16:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos
Summary: Dean is sent out to find the runaway prince of Sanan, who’s now been missing for almost twenty years. Vague eyewitness reports take him to Grand Falls, Canada, but before he can fully even start his search, he runs into Ceri – an intriguing circus talent that seems to know more than is convenient about the past of the Winchester family. Telling himself it’s only for research, Dean starts spending time with him. Soon enough, he finds himself deeper in the situation that he thought he’d be comfortable with; but, as it turns ou t, it doesn’t take a prince to make him kneel.





	1. le lièvre blanc qu'on ne voit jamais

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist link [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1167963412/playlist/71UdEttf8X4Va6iQyKeUz1?si=DREq3iJ2T6qdfhR_j1wfGw). Trigger warning for r*pe mention in first song.
> 
> Thank you for betas [zaphodsgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaphodsgirl) and [casbean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean).
> 
> Thank you for everyone who helped me along the way, and thank you Tropefest mods for having me.
> 
> Be nice. Come say hi on me on tumblr @ starespressos.

Dean Winchester gives himself another once-over in the mirror and sighs.

He looks good. Even by his own standards, which include self-hate every now and then, he looks like he knows where he’s headed.

“Mr. Winchester,” a voice comes from behind him, prompting him to turn around. “I see you’re all ready.”

“I am,” Dean nods, fumbling with his cufflinks. He doesn’t remember the name of this particular royal staff member, nor does he remember his position in the royal court, but it’s all the same right now; soon enough, he’ll be alone.

“Good,” the man says. “I’ve ordered you a car. They’ll make sure you board the right train, and after that… It’s all up to you.”

“Yes,” Dean replies curtly, turning around to give himself one more glance in the mirror. “I will not fail.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Send us an update as soon as you get to Grand Falls.”

“As I’ve been instructed plenty of times.”

The man laughs before opening the door. “I bet. I think I saw your brother in the library. Go say goodbye to him, your lift should be here in ten minutes.”

 

Dean’s never grown accustomed to the opulent hallways of the castle. For him, there’s too much sparkle and drapes — a combination of a robbery and a house fire just waiting to happen. What he loves, though, is the glassware: ornamental vases, bottles, and candelabras are placed on display inside cupboards, on top of dressers, and put in holders on walls. He could spend an eternity staring at the detail of the work, marveling at how someone could spend days perfecting the smallest ornaments on top of what’s undoubtedly the smoothest artisan glass in the kingdom.

Could, but doesn’t, since he already spent hours bringing it to existence.

He shapes, blows, and decorates glass pieces as the court’s only trusted supplier in the kingdom, and after twelve years at the industry, his work is everywhere in the castle. He’s happy with the outcome but also growing restless, which is why the journey couldn’t come at a more convenient time.

Dean didn’t need the man’s tip about his brother’s whereabouts; Sam is rarely found anywhere other than the castle library. As usual, when Dean sits across from him at one of the grand mahogany tables, it takes a while for Sam to close his book and look up at his brother. When he does, there’s a light in his eyes only prominent in people who haven’t been fucked up by life yet. Dean wonders when he himself last felt _joie de vivre_.

“Today’s the day, huh?” Sam asks. “I’m still pissed you won’t take me along.”

“It’s not a journey for a small boy such as yourself,” Dean says, purposefully lowering his voice to sound like an older man. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Look, I could help. I know French. I know how to talk to strangers. Hell, I’ve been at the debate club. I could convince him —”

“Hey,” Dean says, looking around. “No talk about that.”

“Everyone knows where you’re going, Dean. What’s with the secrecy?”

“I don’t want people talking about it. As soon as people talk, false information is going to spread. I’m going to find him, no matter the cost. That’s all any of us needs to know.”

“I wonder if you’ll succeed,” Sam hums.

 _I’ve got to_ , Dean thinks. He squeezes Sam’s arm gently. “That’s left to be seen. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve settled in the mansion.”

“I mean. How can we know if the tip is legit? It could be someone messing with the King… Or someone who doesn’t have a clue what the prince looks like.”

“Don’t have a whole lot of options. I think them sending out me hints at how much they trust the legitimacy of it. Still, I’m not gonna waste time second-guessing, I just need to go. What are your plans for the upcoming days?”

“I’ve been meaning to go to our old house, there’s a couple of book boxes John had that I was never allowed to go through. I could live there for a while.”

Dean smiles fondly. “Living your best life, huh? And to imagine it’s more than a decade since he passed.”

Sam laughs. “When are you going to be back?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says with a shrug, “that depends on Prince Jasper.”

 

Dean’s luggage is already waiting for him on the bottom of the stairs, and as he makes his way down a sleek black car stops on the driveway. The chauffeur makes quick work of carrying his stuff inside, and gestures for Dean to sit down with a solemn nod after the door’s been opened to him. Dean obliges, and as they set in motion, the gravel crunching under the wheels, he turns his head to look at the castle once more. Even though he lives there now, and has for a couple of years, it’s never felt like home; it’s too pompous, too cold, too large. There’s worry etched into the walls,  almost two decades of longing and stress, and even if Dean could ease the court’s life by finding the prince and bringing him home… He’s not sure it would change. A runaway prince has been the identity of the kingdom for so long it’d be hard to adjust into a new world order.

Dean’s brain keeps blissfully empty while in the car, but as soon as he arrives at the station and lets the driver baby him onto the right train, his nerves start acting up. It’s been ages since he last used a train, and it’s been even longer since he last crossed the border to Canada. He remembers a single trip with John and baby Sam to an amusement park., but besides that, it’s always been home sweet home for Dean. Now, he’s going to travel all the way to New Brunswick, Canada… Without even knowing a word of French.

As the view changes into hills and valleys behind the train window, Dean’s nerves settle. In a way, nobody’s as good for the job as he is. Apart from Sam, he doesn’t have anything staying behind that he’s going to miss, and who knows, it could be nice to meet new people, too.

He forces the feeling of _hope_ down and closes his eyes. There’s time to sleep before Grand Falls.

 

 *

 

Dean thought the city of Aleidia had been crowded on a weekend, but as he steps into the platform of Gare de l’Est in Grand Falls, he realizes just how wrong he's been. People are bustling around, some bumping into him and not even noticing, and he needs to hold on his luggage for dear life to keep from dropping it. After traveling for a day and a half and only having small train portions to eat, he’s starving, but he needs to get rid of his belongings first. He did manage to sleep through the night so he doesn’t need to nap, but he could do with a shower and a change of clothes.

He’s going to stay in the Gardenside Mansion, an old, rustic and needlessly big building bought by the Royal Court of Sanan a couple of years ago. Initially, it was a be a residency for when court members visited New Brunswick and wanted to stay away from the hustle and bustle of bigger places such as Moncton or St. John, but as far as Dean knows it has never been used for the intended purpose. He walks down a highly trafficked motorway past many interesting shops and cafes, only once checking Google Maps to avoid getting lost. It’s not really necessary, though, since as soon as he looks up from the road and the boutiques  he’s faced with a grand white house at the end of the street that forks from the highway. It doesn’t pale in comparison to the castle Dean just left, and while it makes him a little uneasy, it’s not enough to make him turn around and find a hotel instead.

He briefly meets the groundskeeper that usually only visits to give the grass a quick mow and the house a thorough dusting once a month. The key changes ownership before Dean steps inside to the large main hallway, with a black-and-white tile floor and a large staircase to the right. It’s more than he needs, and for the second time, his foolish heart is filled with hope. He’ll need to sort out his thoughts, eventually; but for now, he takes off his coat and suit jacket, walking through the house in hopes of finding a bathroom. Once he does, he’s faced with a new problem — there’s both a shower and a bathtub. Hesitantly, he decides on the tub; his muscles and his travel-sore ass deserve it. He fills it to the brim and steps in, causing some of the hot water to overflow. With a happy sigh, he settles in. As much as Dean would like to not think about anything for a while, his brain starts to run. Where to start with finding a prince?

It’s not likely Jasper would have told anyone who he really is, at least if he never wants to be found — so, he could’ve come up with any story in the world and people would’ve bought it. When he left he hadn’t taken anything but food, so he would have needed a stable source of income, too. _What would a twelve-year-old even do?_ he wonders, trying to put himself in Jasper’s shoes. Even though rumor has it that Jasper was fond of the royal stable horses, it’s not likely he’d headed for a farm – he’d only ever seen animals from a distance away. He considers the church next, because a young helper there wouldn’t be unheard of -- but there are at least a dozen churches nearby to check, so until he’s sure, it’s not a road he wants to take.

Grand Falls is full of stores and small workshops that would probably do with a small helper as well, but there’s really no point in considering this too much; after all, Jasper is a grown man now and likely changed his profession plenty of times. Dean lets out a frustrated groan that echoes off the tiles of the bathroom and rubs his fingertips together. They feel wrinkly to the point of squeaking so he reluctantly lifts his lazy bones up. After a quick towel dry, he digs up some more casual clothes from his suitcase — he doesn’t need to represent the kingdom or the royalty right now, so he can cut loose.

 

After some tips from Yelp, Dean heads to a nearby restaurant. He’s going to buy supplies for himself so he doesn’t need to eat out every night, but right now, he can’t be bothered with the thought of grocery shopping. The reviews said the restaurant made a mean steak, and Dean really wants to check that out before thinking about the future.

There’s a constant undercurrent of worry behind his conscious line of thought. He thinks of Sam back home, and although he’s all grown up now and perfectly capable of handling himself, he can’t help but worry. Is he going to get enough to eat when he spends time at their old house? Does he even remember to eat when he’s elbows deep in John’s boxes? Even so, there’s a deeper concern, too — that is, if he fails bringing the rogue prince home, Sam is going to lose his intended spot at the Royal Court of Justice.

Ever since the Winchesters got acquainted with the noble family, Sam’s had a plan for his future; first, a place in the University of Aleidia and later, a full-time job at the Royal Court of Justice. He’s wanted to be the lawyer for the royal court for as long as he has known such a position existed, and everyone inside the castle knows that — and this, of course, makes for a good _incentive_ for Dean to aim for success.

The threats were very thinly veiled, because nothing’s as important as getting Jasper back; in addition to Sam’s job, Dean’s contracts are on the line. The King would nominate a new artisan for the job without a blink, and it would be likely that Dean was never heard of again.

 _No pressure then, huh._ Luckily, the steak in front of Dean distracts him for a while. He cuts a piece off and shoves it in his mouth, and it’s an explosion of taste like he’s never experienced before. The King is very fond of coriander, and nobody in the royal kitchen dares to make food without over-saturating it with that; but now that Dean’s faced with a combination of actual tastes instead of that shit, he’s overwhelmed. Is this what Jasper felt like when he first experienced things outside the castle walls and beyond his kingdom? Dean doesn’t want to instantly start sympathizing with the man — on the contrary, he’s got reason to hate him for making things impossibly harder not only for Dean, but for the kingdom as well, all for a selfish reason — but he can’t help but feel a little thrown by the revelation caused by this simple steak.

After Jasper left, everything slowly started going downhill. No expenses were spared with the search; one patrol after another was sent outside the city and into the vast forests of Sanan, all possible media was constantly filled with notices, and even the children were recruited to look around for the prince. Before the media grew bored of never finding Jasper, he’d even gained a nickname: _The Drowned Prince,_ something out of old Sanan folklore, where a young, troubled prince with a single father runs away — and while it was horrible that in the story the prince drowns in mud, the tragedy only thrilled the press. Just like in the story, the King became depressed, and for the first time had to ask for help making decisions regarding the kingdom. One of the rare good things to come out of the whole incident was him finding a new Queen from one of the noble families helping with the search. They’ve now been married for ten years, and even though the King never got over his depression, and the state of the kingdom has slowly been declining, at least they could now put up a brave front.

 

Dean leaves the restaurant a hefty tip, and with his stomach full he lets himself walk. A river he doesn’t know the name of is slowly flowing on his left, and he briefly wonders how many things this town has to offer him the he doesn’t know about yet. Sure, it would be nice to find the prince immediately and head on home, because he already misses his jerk of a brother, but a part of him wants to explore and experience Grand Falls. He wants to learn the local lifestyle, dive into the cuisine for more than just a couple steaks, and know what exactly made Jasper fall in love and want to stay here.

He frowns. It could very well be that he fell in love. He might have a family here already…

Dean pushes the thought away fast and tries to think about what kind of a man Jasper could have grown into. He was a quiet, frail child, so Dean has a hard time imagining him to have changed all that much. This time he imagines him as a lawyer, like Sam., with a house on the outskirts of Grand Falls — god, that’s a lot of ground for Dean to cover — and he’s a father of two beautiful children. Maybe his wife is a born Canadian, a true French-speaking _madame_ who absolutely loves her husband, even though he’s serious, quiet, and fragile in a way men aren’t admired for. It’s quite likely Jasper grew up just like this, at least if he took after his father. No one ever talks about his mother.

Dean arrives at a market square that still has plenty of stalls open, and in lieu of anything better to do before calling it a night, he sits on one of the benches and listens in to people’s conversations. He knows it’s a long shot, since he doesn’t understand anything the locals are talking about. Still, maybe he’ll hear someone talk English and can ask for pointers about recent Canadian history and where kids could find a job. He could also just ask about a Jasper, since maybe not too many people by that name have arrived here -- but if the prince had at least a hint of wit, he’d know that too and come up with a new one instead.

Dean’s search, on the first day, leads nowhere. After a good amount of time spent at a local farmer’s market and grocery stores, he heads back to the Gardenside Mansion and calls it a night.

 

 *

 

A good thing about the mansion is that it’s got many good food options nearby, and that’s why Dean’s got a continental breakfast buffet waiting for him as soon as he bothers walking across the street. He makes good use of it, eats until he can’t anymore, and when he’s about to head back home for a quick nap before continuing the search today, a red-haired waitress approaches him. The pin on her shirt says her name is Celeste, but as soon as she sees Dean look at it, she shakes her head.

“Please, call me Charlie. I, uh, do you have a minute?”

Dean frowns. “I should. What did you have in mind?”

Charlie gestures him to follow her back to the cash counter where she quickly cashes out a family and then gives Dean a beaming smile.

“You look new,” she starts, biting her lip nervously, “I wasn’t trying to pry or anything, but I saw you came from the Gardenside Mansion and… I guess I just wanted to see who finally moved in there.”

“Uh, why would you do that, exactly?” Dean realizes his words are coming out rougher than he intended, but being observed on his second day in town makes him squirmy.

“It’s off-season. It’s really quiet here, and besides, I’m bored. I’m not from around here myself, and I know what it’s like to be in a new town with nobody to ask for help.”

“I’m not sure I need help,” Dean says.

“I know. I just thought,” she says nonchalantly, making to leave for some table-cleaning. Dean sighs.

“I’m sorry, I really appreciate your offer, Charlie,” he says quickly. “I just… I want to think there’s at least _something_ I can do, since I don’t know where to start with what I came here for.”

Charlie leans against the counter and frowns. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Perhaps. You’re a newbie here, in a way. How long ago did you come?”

“Must be around seven years already,” she says, rubbing her jaw idly. “So hardly a newbie, but I get the sentiment.”

“Alright. How old were you?”

“Seventeen. I wish I would’ve stayed home a little longer, but that first love was painfully strong.”

He nods. “Right. Well, I’m looking for someone that came here at the age of twelve. You don’t happen to have any idea where a person like that would go?”

“Not without knowing more about them, no. There’s a bundle of things you can start doing at the age of twelve.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t know that much myself, so let’s just start in the general department.”

Charlie hums. “Well, they haven’t hired children in factories in a long time. If your person was crafty in any way, they could’ve looked to start as an apprentice for someone in the field. Artisan district is just around the corner.”

Dean tries to think. He’d only ever seen Jasper from a distance, but doesn’t remember him being particularly interested in anything. The horses, sure, but not enough to make a profession out of it. Was Jasper ambitious about anything? He must’ve been, Dean has never met a child who wasn’t. A feeling of suffocation suddenly tightens around his chest — he’s sad that he doesn’t know what the crown prince of Sanan was interested in as a child. He’s pretty sure nobody else does, either; from birth, Jasper had been groomed into the perfect future king, and he didn’t have a say in what he wanted to do. Horrified, Dean realizes the reason Jasper was always so reserved and silent was not because he was like that in person, but because he _needed_ to be.

“I… I really don’t know anything about him,” Dean sighs, mortified by the realization. Charlie shrugs. “At least you’re here looking for him?”

She looks like she wants to say more, but decides against it. For a while, Dean becomes paranoid — he’s sure Charlie knows who Dean is looking for, and she knows where Jasper is but refuses to tell him. Frustrated by the thought alone, Dean stands up.

“Anyway, thanks for the offer. I’m going to retire back to my fancy mansion.”

Charlie nods. There are questions written all over her face, but thankfully she keeps from voicing any of them. Dean straightens up and rolls his shoulders before turning his back to Charlie and heading for the door.

“One more thing!” she yelps.

Dean sighs, trying to keep it light. He’s got nothing against Charlie, but he needs to go sulk a little. “Okay.”

“I know two psychics. If you’d like to receive that kind of help, I’d be happy to give you the details.”

Dean frowns, tilts his head, considers. “As in… Fortune tellers?”

“Well, one of them does fortune telling in a circus, so yeah, maybe. If you have something that belongs to your lost guy, they could help.”

“I… I don’t know,” he says slowly, because there is one thing, but he doesn’t know if it will work. “I need to make inventory.”

“Fair enough,” she smiles. “I work most of the days this week, and I’ve got a phone, so… So in case you want to talk more, hang out, or get a view across the city, I would like to show you around.”

“Oh,” Dean says, suddenly blinking at the possible hidden meaning behind the words, “I don’t… I’m not available for courting, if that’s what you want.”

Charlie snorts. The sound is absolutely ruthless and Dean would feel bad if the following laughter wasn’t contagious. “Wow, dude. I’m… No. You’re not my type.”

Dean squints and nods. Apparently, he looks mortified, so Charlie makes a quick addition. “And by that I mean the, uh, assumed penis you have.”

“Ah, okay,” Dean manages with a dry laugh. “Wow, leave it to me to find the only other queer in Grand Falls on my second day. Well, I guess I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“Bisexual?”

“Well, yeah. How’d you—”

“Oh boy, you give the most bisexual vibe I’ve seen in centuries. Alright. Well, I’ll be around for a couple more hours, and if you make up your mind about the psychic before that, please tell me.”

With a wave, she’s off through the swinging doors that probably lead to the kitchen. Dean sighs and finally steps out. He doesn’t know why, but right now, he’s too tired to think straight.

 

Dean tries to take a nap but spends the whole time rolling back and forth in his queen-sized bed. If he had excess money, he’d get a better pillow and some sheets that don’t smell like dust — but since he’s not certain of how long he’s going to be staying here, it would be pushing his luck to start spending money. Besides, a luxury pillow won’t help him sleep, since the reason he can’t is Charlie.

It doesn’t take him long to come around. He knows seeing a psychic would be smart, and it’s best to stay on Charlie’s good side for now — after all, she’s the only person Dean has actually met in town. Maybe he should spill everything out right now so she’d understand just how deep he is in this mess already, but… It doesn’t feel right. He should build trust first, and the good thing about trust is that it can be strengthened by group activity, including going to a psychic.

With a lazy groan, he gets up and leaves the mansion again. He makes a mental note to call both Sam and the kingdom to inform them about his arrival in Grand Falls, and when his eyes meet Charlie’s across the restaurant she starts grinning. Apparently, Dean’s resolution is written all over his face.

“Hey, man,” she smiles, “are you hungry? I was thinking of picking up pastries from the bakery next door. We could make a picnic out of it.”

Dean laughs. “Sounds good to me. Do I need to…” He looks around, and even though nobody’s close by, he lowers his voice. “Do I need to be prepared, somehow?”

“For the bakery? What the hell?”

Dean snorts. “For the fortune teller.”

“Oh! Well. Keep an open mind, and don’t think this person owes you anything. Also, do you have a preference between the circus fortune teller and the other psychic? I mean, if I can get a hold of them both, we can do both.”

“Both sounds fine. I need all the help I can get.”

Charlie nods. “I’ll be done in fifteen. If you want, you can go to the bakery already.”

“Nah,” Dean says, widening his eyes for a dramatic effect while he shakes his head, “I wouldn’t trust myself alone in a bakery. I would spend all my money in a heartbeat.”

With a grin, Charlie rolls her eyes before turning back to filling the salad bowls. Then, she frowns and freezes.

“Wait. I don’t have a name for you. What’s your name, Gardenside?”

“It’s Dean,” he says. Charlie mouths it.

“Great. Dean, see you in a bit.”

 

After a visit to the bakery Charlie was adamant about keeping short, they find themselves in front of the bright green door of a semi-detached house. Dean feels his nerves acting up, and it’s because he’s only met a psychic once before in his life — at a farmer’s market during the summer festival of Aleidia, and he totally made a fool out of himself by using all the cliches in the book. No, the psychic hadn’t known Dean was coming to talk to him before he did. No, they didn’t instantly get glimpses about how Dean is going to die. And _no_ , they aren’t going to tell Dean what the winning numbers are.

So yes, he knows how to act around a psychic — or at least how _not_ to act — but it doesn’t make him any less nervous. When a short but sassy-looking woman opens the door and gives Dean a dead stare through hooded eyes, he instantly gets the impression they haven't come here to play.

“Hello, Missouri,” Charlie says cheerfully, “I called you just a moment ago. This is Dean.”

“I see,” Missouri says and manages a half-smile. “The Sanan boy. Come in, both of you.”

They follow her in to a narrow hallway that's filled with masks — obviously a valuable collection from around the world. There's intricate details in each of them, and it's clear they hold a story behind their hollow eyes. This woman has seen places, Dean thinks idly.

Missouri has set a table for them; a tea one, at that. There's varieties of tea in different glass jars in the middle of the table, and it only vaguely feels like a trial when she gestures them to take their pick. When Dean chooses something that smells like meringue, she gives him an almost impressed look. After pouring hot water on top of the leaves for all of them, she sits down across from Dean. Charlie looms in the opening between the kitchen and the entry hallway.

“You were looking for someone,” she says. “Tell me about them.”

“Uh, that's the thing. I don't know all that much. He's,” Dean sighs. “He's the crown prince of Sanan. He ran away when he was twelve.”

“How do you know he ran away?”

“I'm not sure what finally gave it away. There were no signs of forced entry. I was very young myself, back then, I wasn't involved in politics and nobody bothered to fill me in later, either.”

Sam would know the answer, Dean thinks in passing, and Missouri gives him a calculating look.

“Hmm,” she says, “I wonder how you feel about being the one to do this.”

“They wanted to raise as little suspicion as possible, and didn’t want to risk Jasper recognizing the person who’s coming for him. Then there’s the whole security issue and you know… I’m not too valuable.”

“Jasper,” she says slowly. Then, she frowns and retrieves a deck of Tarot cards from the counter behind her. Before touching them further, she lights a candle next to them. The smell of honey fills the air. “Now, Dean, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

She glances at him before taking the deck in her hands. Dean watches her do an elegant shuffle, and glances over to Charlie only to notice her gone. Instantly, the room feels smaller.

“What do you want to tell?”

“I’m a glassblower,” he starts. “I’ve lived in Sanan for all my life. I don’t know how most things work outside my kingdom. I—”

“A glassblower,” Missouri says, her voice husky due to the concentration she puts in the cards. “Here, finish the shuffle for me. While you do, I’d like you to concentrate on what you know about Jasper.”

Dean frowns before taking the cards in his hands. They’re firm to the touch, and as Dean folds and turns them, he can feel Missouri’s eyes on him.

For some reason, Dean doesn’t want to talk while he’s working, and that’s why they keep silent until he hands the cards back. He’s not sure whether he has enough to go on with, because apart from his public image, Dean knows next to nothing about Jasper.

“Thank you, Dean,” she says. “Now, let’s do a simple reading, here.”

She works in silence, and while her whole presence is serious and she’s different from anyone Dean’s ever met, he can feel himself calm down. There’s nothing to fear here; this woman is trying to help him, and even if they don’t get closer… At least they’ve tried.

“Right. So, what made you become a glassblower?”

“I love to create things with my hands,” Dean says. “I feel like… I pay rent with my work.”

She frowns, glancing up at him. “Don’t most?”

“I live in the castle now, and I work for the King so I don’t actually have to pay for accommodation. Even when I’ve got no orders, I tend to work on something to present for him when the time comes. But it’s more than that. I guess I pay for my existence in this world with my art.”

Missouri nods, as if she’d already known what Dean meant. She turns the first card that consists of more swords than Dean can count with a glance.

“Do you consider you need to pay for your existence on this plane of reality?”

“I’ve been taught to believe that, yeah.”

“Taught by who?”

“By my father. Sorry, but I’d prefer to keep him out from this.”

Missouri’s glance sharpens for a second, and he looks down at the card. “Well, yes. I can see your past is troubled… Not only with your father, but with Jasper as well, am I right?”

Dean frowns. Well, no point in trying to hide it. “Yes. We were to marry.”

She looks down at the card again, tapping it twice. “That explains a lot. There’s conflict and shadows, not just in here, not just in this card — they’re all over you.”

Nodding slowly, Dean watches as Missouri flips the second card. The room feels like it’s turning inward in anticipation, and when Missouri speaks again, her voice is calculated.

“The past and the future are both conflicting with this moment so hard it’s clouded. The still life you’ve had is coming to an end, and it’ll be a long time before you’re swimming in still waters again. Dean, would you be alright if I looked at your future card immediately? It’d help me better describe what I’m looking at, here.”

“Of course.” Dean’s voice is a whisper now. Missouri turns the final card and sighs.

“Well. You’ll have to make a big choice — and I’m not talking about lunch decisions here, child. Soon, your life will split into two separate roads, and as you know, you can’t ride on them both. It’s a decision between the head and the heart, but even more than that, it’s the choice between right and wrong. You’ll be mixing those two up in your way, but I’ve got no doubt you’ll choose the greater good here.”

“Not gonna lie, this sounds scary.”

“And it should. Ain’t no walk in the park, what you’re up against. Now, do you believe in things you can’t see?”

“In… What I can’t see?”

“Do you think all of this is a bunch of baloney? Do you think I’m the real deal?”

“I mean. I’ve met a witch and have experience with an evil spirit, so it wouldn’t completely surprise me. I know there’s magic in this world.”

“The sooner you realize not everything that happens in this world happens in the human realm, the better you’ll handle what’s to come. I wish I could tell you all that I know, but things, as they come to me, are always relevant to your choices. Darkness is coming, and you need to prepare yourself, but you’re a good man, Dean. There’s light that not even darkness can swallow, and in desperation, there’s a silver lining that can be stretched out to make a guideline.”

Dean sighs. “I don’t… What do I need to do? How do I go about finding Jasper?”

“Oh, he’ll come to you in no time. You just need to stand still, and he’ll come, horns blazing, right into you. So soon, even, that he could just as well be running in here right now. But even so…. The person you’re looking for doesn’t exist.”

 

 


	2. l'oiseau s'est envolé

“I don’t know,” Dean says after Charlie has been quiet for a while, “maybe it’s nothing.”

“Do you think it’s nothing?”

They’re slowly walking towards their second appointment on the outskirts of town; there’s an old circus that’s still functioning, and their psychic has a good history with predicting the future. Dean’s still a bit thrown by his meeting with Missouri, but the more he tries to remember and make sense of what she said, the less he understands. When he told Charlie, she’d gone awfully quiet, as if his fear immediately rubbed off on her.

“I want to believe it was just a trick to keep me on my toes. Darkness, big life choices… All that sounds a bit cliche to me.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s cliche or not,” Charlie mutters, “these are universal things, and it’s not like you’d call life itself a cliche. I think we should see what Pamela has to say and decide our game plan after.”

“You don’t need to come along. I can handle all of this myself.”

Charlie gives him a condescending look and shakes her head. “This isn’t your town, and you don’t speak the language. If there’s something I can and want to do for you, please let me help.”

Dean nods, swallowing around the hollowness still present in his throat. What if Missouri is right? What if there is an unknown force, a darkness looming somewhere in his peripheral vision, and he can either have or lose it all by making a choice? It’s mere minutes since they left Missouri’s place and he’s already paranoid. Is someone following them? Did he remember to lock the mansion door? Is Sam alright?

He needs to call Sam. He’s been avoiding him long enough.

 

The circus is, quite frankly, nothing like Dean has ever seen before. They turn a corner and suddenly it’s there in all its glory — a giant red-and-white tent with a couple of stalls scattered around it, fairy lights set between them for atmosphere. It’s currently silent since it’s only just starting to get dark, but Dean already longs to spend an evening here. He might need to ask Charlie if they can stay for a show.

“She should be right through here,” Charlie says just before they enter the yard, and gestures to a narrow path that leads to a two-story building. “During and after shows, she works in a tent on the circus grounds, but she told us to meet her at her house.”

“Psychics are awfully friendly over here,” Dean mutters, “or is it Canada?”

“Could be both. Oh, look at this.”

Painted glass ornaments are hanging around the entrance, captivating the porch light and twinkling like stars. All possible surfaces on the stairs and the porch are filled with plants that have already turned brown in anticipation of upcoming winter. Cars pass by on the other side of the street, but this entrance is silent.

“Captivating,” Dean mutters, realizing he means it. If there was space somewhere between the plants, he’d love to drink a cup of tea here each morning, waiting for the circus people to arrive and listening to the cars on the street and the birds in the trees.

Charlie nods, walks up the stairs carefully and doesn’t bother waiting for Dean before grabbing the insect door knocker and banging it three times. Dean holds his breath as he ascends the stairs and sets a pot wobbling with his heel, but breaks nothing. Charlie looks back at him with a smile just before Pamela opens the door.

“Hello,” she says with a wry smile, and before Dean can form a coherent thought, snorts. “And before you can ask, I have a deal with the plants. I feed them water and nutrients, and they let a poor blind woman pass without tripping.”

“I _was_ wondering,” Charlie hums gleefully, “I’m Charlie, I called you earlier, and this is my friend Dean. He’s the one in need of help.”

“Oh, yes. Please come in. I was just making coffee, would you care for any?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” Dean says as Charlie leans closer to him.

“I’m gonna stand back again. Are you going to be alright?”

“Of course. Thank you.”

She nods and takes a seat next to the old landline phone placed on the hallway dresser. Dean follows Pamela to the living room, and before he can sit, Pamela tuts.

“Oh boy, you’re in trouble.”

“I’m starting to realize that, yeah.”

Pamela considers him, obviously listening to his breathing and awkward shuffling. Dean lets his gaze roam along the large dark shelf to his left, taking in the details from brass horses to encyclopedias. Somewhere an electrical device is whirring, and someone walks on the second floor, making the floorboards creak.

“Hmm. Are you running from something?”

“Not that I know of, no.”

“Charlie told me that you’re looking for something, but you have an urgency I usually see in runners, not in seekers.”

“Oh. Well, there’s a lot at stake here.”

“And even more than you know will be at stake. Big changes are coming. Big choices are coming for you, Dean.”

“Yes, I… I heard about that from another psychic. I don’t know what that means.”

“And it’s not for any self-respecting psychic to tell,” she laughs. “But you seem like an enigma, Dean. I would like to see how you unravel.”

“Wouldn’t we all.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. “So, you’re here for a reason. You’re looking for someone.”

“Yeah, I am. I… I don’t know if you can help me with finding someone, but I’m kind of desperate and don’t know where to start.”

 _He could just as well be running in through the door right now,_ Missouri had said. What does that mean?

“Well. What do you have for me to go by?” Pamela asks before retrieving a candle from the cupboard behind her. “Ideally, something that belonged to the person you’re seeking. Something they’ve touched.”

He briefly thinks again if _he_ would count as something that belongs to the prince. After all, they were supposed to get married eventually. He decides against it. “Uh… No, I don’t have anything like that. I don’t know all that much. His name is Jasper, and he’s a prince —”

Pamela gasps and stills completely. For a while, Dean thinks she’s dropped something, but when she turns and her eyes are full of controlled rage, he’s quickly corrected.

“Leave. Leave my fucking house right now!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

 _“Leave_!”

Pamela’s command doesn’t leave room for negotiations so Dean backs away. The hollowness in his stomach deepens so hard it aches and he can’t begin to guess what’s going on, but it’s something huge, something serious, and something scary enough to make him think about returning home. He turns around and meets Charlie’s wild eyes and then they’re speed walking out the door, down the crowded stairs, and along the narrow path until they’re back on the road to the circus.

 *

Surprisingly, the idea is Charlie’s. She’s the one who looks towards the circus as the lights come on, and she’s the one who takes Dean by the arm and gives him the best puppy eyes she could possibly manage. It’s easy for Dean to play the good guy and give in to Charlie, even though it immediately becomes clear just how much Dean enjoys the circus the second they set foot on the grounds.

The circus is called Eden, and it’s obvious it’s doing well. There’s merchandise being sold next to the entrance, and while Charlie busies herself with buying a birdcage that’s apparently a replica of one used in the show, Dean gets his fingers on some cotton candy. As he sinks his mouth into the light blue cloud of happiness, he tries to forget what he’s learned today.

His encounter with Pamela leaves him agitated. It’s like there’s some truth waved in front of his nose that he’s unable to see — like the curtain of the show was raised too early and he sees the performers still preparing. It’s obvious there was something Pamela wasn’t expecting, but the more Dean tries to chase it, the more he feels like he’s chasing shadows. It angers him that he still has a whole lot of nothing to go on, but there’s also some consolation in Missouri’s words about Jasper’s and his paths crossing being inevitable.

“Stop sulking,” Charlie grins, “you’ve got cotton candy and I’ve got this beautiful thing, and we’re going to see some of the best circus acts in New Brunswick, if not the entirety of Canada. You know what, we’re going all in. I’m getting us best seats in the house.”

“That does sound amazing,” Dean sighs happily and lets Charlie take care of purchasing the tickets; the young man sitting in the ticket booth doesn’t speak English. Immediately, they’re ushered inside and guided to the front row. Dean lets his gaze wander from the dark blue ceiling, alive with glittering stars, to the cage hoisted high that seems to be waiting for a resident. It’s warm in the tent and the seats seem to be getting full, so Dean takes his jacket off and seats himself comfortably. People around him talk French, English, and some languages he has never heard before; something tells him this is one of those nights that will change how he sees the world.

This isn’t the first time he’s been to a circus, but his memory of the experience is somewhat ruined by his father. Dean doesn’t want to think too much into that now that the music is starting — and it throws him off guard, because instead of the usual fanfare march type, it’s a simple, classical piano piece.

A woman walks out from behind a striped curtain, and silently steps onto a platform. She’s dressed in an all white tux, her red hair flowing freely over her shoulders, and she considers the audience in what’s almost a haughty manner, but there’s mirth in her eyes that gives away how happy she is to have a full house tonight. She’s the ringmistress, no doubt, and what she’s about to present are no less than her children.

“Good evening!” she says as the music fades to the background. “Wonderful to have you here tonight. It’s the first night of our winter season, and we’re prepared you some of the best performances we’ve yet done. You’ll be the first to see most of the acts — although there ares two returning pieces that have been requested more times than we can count.”

Scattered laughter through the audience makes the ringmistress glance around with a wry smile.

“As you all know, I’m Eden, and this is my Home. Now, without further ado, I present to you my newest talent, Dayo.”

A roar of applause fills the tent, and even though Dean has no idea what kind of an artist Dayo is, he’s all for it. The ringmistress backs away gracefully and leaves the stage for a young man covered in glitter and a well-fitting blue outfit. He smiles at the audience clumsily, and even though he seems shy, the second he exhales and bends over to straighten himself into a handstand, he has the whole room silent.

Smooth, slow electro-jazz plays on the background, leaving enough room for Dayo to get through his act. His moves are impossibly controlled, and even though sweat is slowly working its way on his brow, he never shakes. The only time Dean has seen acrobalance performed live he wasn’t able to concentrate fully on it, and now he’s both in awe and jealous — who wouldn’t want to have that kind of body control? It must be a demanding, ruthless line of work to have that sort of flexibility and balance, and when Dayo eventually faces the audience and takes a bow with a beaming smile, Dean is the first giving a standing ovation.

The performance isn’t over yet, though; a woman, completely hidden until now, makes a sudden drop from the ceiling, spinning around and around and around until Dean’s dizzy just looking at it, and then gracefully proceeds until she’s hanging from one of two aerial silk pieces. She swings herself over to the other one and bends her body like an archer’s bow, and briefly, Dean thinks he might be a little bit in love.

The music picks up tempo and morphs into _Les Parapluies de Cherbourg_ , a song Dean wouldn’t have an idea about if Sam hadn’t made him watch the movie “for educational purposes.” It suits the moves of the woman like it was made for her, and not the other way around, and Dean can hardly keep from clapping at all times. He’s completely engulfed by the experience, both the sounds and the visuals, and while he realizes this is only the opening act, he’s ready to devote his life to circus right now. Charlie is gasping and hissing next to him, obviously afraid the woman’s going to fall, and honestly, Dean can’t blame her. The sudden drops and long swings, the elaborate arches and poses, and the way she sometimes lets go of the silks, only holding on by her thighs… It’s stunning, it’s scary, and it’s something Dean probably never could grow tired of.

Eventually, she steps down and gives Dayo a short hug. Charlie gasps again, this time for a completely different reason.

“Oh, my god. I know her.”

“You do?”

“She’s Jo. Uh, Jo Harvelle. We were classmates in high school, not ever really friends, but damn I had such a crush on her straight ass.”

Dean’s about to ask something about Jo, but his brain freezes and clears out the second a new figure walks to the stage.

There’s no doubt this is the star of the show. He’s wearing an outfit that’s peach down to his waist, blending perfectly with his skin, and dark blue swirls lick their way up his lower body like cold flames. If Dean thought he was in love with Jo… This is a painful kick in the chest sort of infatuation.

He looks serious, his hair up in all directions and plastered so with glitter, and when he reaches up to grab the hoop hanging mid-air, the muscles in his arms and shoulders stand out. Dean wouldn’t notice if he was drooling right now.

The song changes again, and a dreamy piano fills the room. The whole audience is quiet as the man takes a wide grasp of the hoop and lets himself be lifted off the ground. His whole body is stiff until he’s up, and then, he swings his body through the ring to hang on by his legs. It’s like some part of his essence is water, or smoke — he moves fluidly, and every bend of his body and turn of his head radiates strength, confidence, and a sense of carelessness Dean’s not sure he’s ever seen before.

And as much as he loves the aesthetic of this man and his show of death-defying drops combined with twirls and impossibly beautiful postures… He’s also really close to popping a boner right here, right now. Maybe that’s the reason he’s pleased when the ringmistress returns and, after a deafening round of applause, speaks.

“Isn’t this exciting? I’m so happy to have these talented, beautiful people playing with me! Give it up for Shiva on the silks, and my dearest firstborn Ceri on the lyra,” she says and looks around approvingly as another set of applause fills the air and leans in as if to whisper, “I’ve got a secret! Ceri might be performing one of the two returning pieces.”

She gestures to the cage hanging from the ceiling and Charlie whimpers next to Dean.

“Oh, god. Oh god oh god oh god.”

Dean leans closer. “What is it?”

“This is the biggest thing,” Charlie whispers, lifting her own cage, “you have no idea how big of a deal this show has been for me. I’ve seen it twice, and I’m so in love with the intensity of it.”

“Apparently many people are,” Dean says absently, looking at Ceri leave the stage and then lifting his finger towards Charlie’s cage, “I mean, it’s something of an icon, it seems.”

“Well, it should be. He’s a genius, and like, the shit you’re gonna see are some peak points in entertainment, I’ll tell you that.”

Dean’s about to ask more, but the ringmistress introduces the next performer, and he decides to concentrate.

 

*

 

Dean doesn’t remember how circuses work — he’s not sure if all of them have intermissions. This one, however, does; people leave their non-valuables on their seats and go get some fresh air, some go buy drinks from the stalls outside. Dean and Charlie chat about whether he needs a tour around Grand Falls when Charlie suddenly lifts her gaze up somewhere behind Dean. She goes completely pale and opens her mouth to say something, but gets nothing out.

Dean turns around and sees Jo Harvelle, or _Shiva_ as her stage name is, standing there and looking straight through him and into Charlie. “We’ve met, right?”

Charlie nods. “High school.”

“Oh, that’s right! Wow, it’s been ages and I still totally recognized you in the crowd. It’s — it’s Charlie, right? How have you been?”

Dean tries to listen in on their conversation since it’s nothing too personal, but he sees Ceri walk across the stage towards them and his ears start to ring. Oh, god. He’s not prepared to get this close, no way.

Ceri walks up to Jo and places a friendly hand on her arm for a second to get her attention. Jo leans closer to him, eyes still on Charlie since she’s talking, and Dean is incredibly jealous someone gets to be this close with a person so beautiful. Dean can’t keep from staring at Ceri’s full lips, his strong jaw, the glitter that starts on his toned shoulders, climbs up a neck that Dean would very much love to trace with his tongue, and ends on his high cheekbones.

Still, the most intriguing part of him are his eyes. They’re that specific brand of deep mountain blue Dean colors his opaque ornaments with, something he’s never seen in life before and is not sure how he’s ever going to look away from again.

It takes him painfully long to notice Ceri is looking right back at him, brow in a beautiful frown, lips slightly parted now. He leans to whisper something to Jo before turning around and returning backstage.

“So,” Jo says then, prolonging the word and squinting, “what’re you up to after the show?”

“Laundry,” Dean says. Charlie jabs him on the side with her elbow.

“Why are you asking?” she replies, managing a charming smile.

“We’re having a first-show-of-the-season afterparty. It’s been ages since we’ve last been together, and most of our friends are coming… Including my fiancé, who also works at the circus. What do you say?”

“Your fiance? My gal, are you marrying someone from our class?”

Jo lifts her eyebrows and nods. “Clickbait, though. Come around and see who it is. Laundry boy is also invited. Wait. You aren’t an item, right?”

“Gay as they come,” Charlie hums. “Me, that is. Laundry boy can speak for himself.”

“Then my memory hasn’t failed me,” Jo laughs. “Anyway. Stick around after the show and we’ll take you backstage.”

 

The second half of acts is just as tantalizing as the first. There’s trapeze, tight wires, knife juggling, and fire eating; the music gets louder and more intense during each act, and some of the lyrics take darker hues. Smiles fade from the artists’ faces, makeups get heavy, and even though Dean hasn’t seen a lot of circus, he knows they’re building up to something. The audience feels it, too — laughter turns into more serious admiration, quiet gasps and careful rounds of applause.

Then, Eden herself returns. She’s got a long, black dress on, and a masquerade mask over her eyes has long, black feathers — the image of a raven in human form almost impeccable.

“Hey, children,” she says, spreading her arms as if she’s trying to take the whole audience in a hug, “it’s time for the act of the night you’ve all been waiting for — although I do hope you’ve liked everything you’ve seen so far.”

Applause, whooping, and whistling fills the room so loud Dean’s sure he’ll hear it tomorrow. He notices his throat is already sore, so he must’ve been yelling quite a lot himself.

“Thank you. It warms my poor old little heart,” she says, placing a hand over her chest. Dean notices Charlie jump in her seat a little; the excitement is adorable. “Now, please, please. Help me welcome back Ceri.”

While the audience cheers, the cage is slowly brought down. Charlie places both of her hands over her mouth, already overcome with emotion. Dean watches in awe as Ceri enters the stage, completely owning it; he’s walking light, almost skipping, he’s smiling at the audience, waving. There’s a couple of people that waveback at him, and there’s some who cheer him on, but the vast majority are severe, quiet, still affected by the mood-building that happened earlier.

What’s going on?

A gentle piano starts. Dean knows the song; it’s _L’oiseau,_ a song sometimes played in the court. Even though Dean can’t associate it with a memory, he almost tears up hearing the notes.

Then, Ceri starts to dance. He extends his arms, takes a couple of light steps before rising on his toes, a steady _demi pointe_ — and then he’s spinning around and around on his axis, lifting his arms up, and jumping across the stage in a couple of strong, lengthy bounces. From thin air, a ribbon appears in his hand and when he spins around again, the movement becomes everything; the air sparkles around him, and the ribbon forms a makeshift cocoon from which he emerges light and happy and free. A French horn accompanies the piano gently as the sparkles of the air fall on Ceri’s skin, making him absolutely radiant.

Dean is already crying, and all Ceri’s done is dance.

Next, someone comes in through the back; a black-cloaked figure, obviously meant to be nothing more than a fleeting thought or a passing shadow. They watch Ceri dance from a distance at first, but take slow steps forward until they’re next to the cage; and when Ceri accentuates the crescendo of the music by some faster twirls and steps, the figure acts. They take Ceri’s hands what seems like mid-leap, turn him around, and push him into the cage with a loud bang. Ceri’s back hits the bars loudly and he falls to the floor in a dramatic, yet realistic display of defeat. The shadow turns to face the audience, takes off their hood revealing a white mask, and laughs, a guttural, horrible thing, towards the audience.

The music lowers in volume. Gets jammed into a loop of two notes. Ceri lies down, breathing hard.

And then, finally —

He wraps both his hands around cage bars, and in a wide stance, hoists himself back up — a beautiful, perfectly calculated bend that Dean does _not_ think too much about — before lifting his legs on the bars. It’s a couple of steps with all his limbs on two separate bars before he’s able to jump and grab the bars high on the opposite side, and with a swing of his legs, he exits the cage in a perfectly-measured illusion of movement and what must be a hidden open space between the bars. Or— or magic, that’s an option, Dean thinks briefly when he notices the glow around Ceri’s body. He’s quickly distracted by the next steps, though; Ceri takes hold of the crescent moon and leaps on top of it, reaches his arms up, close his eyes and just stands there -- this royal, elegant, ethereal, strong being full of the force of life, holding all of the room in the palm of his hand. A lyra descends from the ceiling and without opening his eyes, he catches it in both his hands, hangs on and lets it take him up, up, and higher.

He lifts his legs straight up and somehow manages to swing himself inside the lyra. It sparkles in the artificial lights of the tent, and Ceri flashes a happy smile towards the audience, letting one of his legs dangle freely — and oh, oh god, Dean is weak for that smile. He can’t help but smile right back, fully aware Ceri can’t see him in the darkness of the audience, and for a second Dean is unbelievably sad by this realization. He wants to be seen by this man, he wants to be smiled at by him, and more than anything, he wants to tell him thank you, _thank you for making me cry at your art, for giving me just what I needed tonight, for making me fall in love._

The last thought is whimsical, but because Ceri starts dancing around the lyra again, he lets it slide.

The song starts its finishing melody, and Dean’s ready to rise up and applaud like never before, but something happens — a whole shit ton of things happen at once: the hidden figure sheds their cloak and reveals a suit in Sanan court colors; Ceri stretches himself into a graceful final pose, and Dean can see the rise and fall of his chest; a gun, the fucking cloak person has a _shotgun_ that he points towards Ceri; the audience gasps and mutters around Dean and then, then the loudest, most ear-piercing bang splits the air. The music ends abruptly, Ceri falls, completely limp, a dead weight. He smashes against a mattress way too thin to cushion his fall, and stays eerily still.

The person with the shotgun laughs, drops the gun and walks up to Ceri, and that’s when Dean sees it — there’s an ornamental crest on the front of their jacket, a gray and red thing with a gold W in the middle of it.

The Winchester family crest. The crest Dean grew up under before it fell with his father’s death.

There’s no mistaking it. A person dressed up as a Winchester just shot Ceri.

He vaguely realizes people are rising up to give applause. His mind backtracks to the second he thought Ceri was seriously injured and he feels a bit foolish — this is theater, after all. Performers Dean knows come back on stage and Jo is the one who helps Ceri back on his feet, and he’s unscathed, grinning at the Winchester-clothed person and shaking their hand.

What’s going _on_?

 

 


	3. si jamais je rencontrais ce bel oiseau qui s'est envolé

When Dean has a drink in his hands and he takes a seat in the booth of a small saloon-type bar in the vicinity of the circus, he realizes there’s only really two options.

Either someone has it out for the Winchesters and wants to make them look bad… Or someone’s heard Jasper’s story of running away from a life planned out for him and thought it was relatable enough to bring into a circus environment.

Dean doesn't know. Thinking it's about Jasper is a reach to say the least, but he doesn't know who else would feel trapped and shot down by the Winchesters. While John was a father who left a lot to be hoped for, he usually put his best side forward when it came to strangers. Besides, it's unlikely that this could have gone on for ages without his father finding out — he was a bit nervous over his reputation and he had friends all over the world to spy for him.

Then again, not even his spy friends found Jasper ten years ago.

The only way about it is to get in the vicinity of Ceri and casually bring it up. _Hey, what made the creator of this come up with such a plot? Who's in charge of the Winchester crest? What's your take on the whole caged bird thing?_

He looks over at Ceri, who currently is sitting with his colleagues, listening to them talk in silence. God, he's beautiful, even casually bored — his jaw is strong, eyes piercing, and his long fingers idly caress the condensation on the side of his glass bottle. Dean needs to look away before his mind takes a dumpster dive, but then, their eyes meet.

Dean clears his throat and pointedly looks away, but not before he sees Ceri frown. It's not angry, the sort of frown you might get from a stranger when they want you to stop ogling, but an inquiring one. _What do you see_? it seems to ask. Dean wants to answer, but first, he needs to know that himself.

Before his mind goes on a tangent about all the thousand ways he finds Ceri interesting, Charlie claps him on the shoulder, effectively startling him.

“Whoa,” she says gleefully, “you okay there?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Dean says, shaking his head. He looks back at Ceri, who has now extended his palm to someone standing opposite him, letting them doodle something on it. His eyes are joyful and concentrated.

Charlie, of course, is too attentive. She follows his gaze to the table and grins. “Oh! I get it.”

“Don't,” Dean says quickly, “it's nothing.”

She frowns and takes a seat. “Do you wanna go talk to him? I can go meet Jo and you can pretend to just tag along, feign nonchalance.” Dean blinks. “Whoa, those wheels are a-turning miles per hour right now. What's this?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I have anything to say to him,” Dean says, a quick lie that’s not even a lie. He can’t open up a conversation with questions about Sanan — either Ceri doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, or he’ll feel intimidated.

“Of course you do. Oh, god. You could even become a circus paramour,” Charlie notices the second her mouth is running too long, and she snaps it shut with a clack of her teeth.

“A what?” Dean asks even though he knows it’s pointless. He finishes his drink and places the empty bottle in the middle of the table.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Silly gossip. Now, come on.”

She takes his hand and it would be embarrassing for him to look like he’s objecting. He lets Charlie lead him straight to the table where, luckily, also Jo is sitting. Immediately, she gives them a beaming smile.

“Charlie and laundry boy!” she says, already tipsy, “sit down, please. I’m so glad you made it.”

“You literally gave me instructions half an hour ago back at the tent, it shouldn’t be a surprise,” Charlie laughs and scoots over next to her. Dean closes and opens his fists awkwardly, _damn, he needs a new beer_ , before sitting down. He’s right opposite Ceri, feverishly trying not to meet his gaze immediately while also being painfully aware Ceri is already watching him.

“So,” the man opposite Jo says, “who are you?”

“Charlie,” Charlie says, extending her hand, “school pals with Jo. This is Dean, my friend.”

Dean laughs, about to correct her -- they’re not technically even friends yet -- but stops short. No point in going into that in case it turns out these people know something about Jasper.

“Okay,” the man says, and there’s something in his voice Dean’s not sure he likes, “I’m Baz. You might know me from such acts as dancing on a tightrope before falling into a net.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Charlie says. She’s obviously waiting for the rest of them to introduce themselves as well, but when nobody volunteers, an almost uncomfortable silence falls between the seven of them. Jo picks up on it and offers a short explanation.

“We’ve got this habit that if someone wants to introduce themselves, they will. Until that, you know our names at the show.”

Dean nods. “I get it. Safety first.”

He feels like the dullest person in the room for saying that, but he does know there’s no real reason so he lets the feeling pass. Surely it’s long enough now and he can look at Ceri?

Mistake. Big mistake. He’s looking right back, squinting slightly like he’s trying to place his face somewhere in his memory.

“Dean,” he says slowly, deeply, oh, wow, a voice like that in such a beautiful vessel could do a serious number on Dean with no effort.

“Ceri,” Dean manages, his voice raspy and too quiet in the bar, but as soon as he’s opened his mouth, he can’t help himself. “I, uh, really enjoyed you out there.”

Ceri nods — a slight tip of his head to indicate a thank you. Baz is looking at them, so Dean quickly clears his throat.

“Same goes for all of you, obviously.”

“No need to kiss ass here,” the guy sitting next to Baz, Dayo, if Dean remembers correctly, says, “we know we’re good.”

Jo snorts. “Damn right. Another round before leaving?”

Dean’s heart sinks a little. “You leaving already?”

“Nah, this is just the starting place. Ceri, can we go to yours?”

“Which?” Ceri asks, fondling the bottle again and Dean’s sure he knows exactly what he’s doing to him right now. It doesn’t keep Dean from following the movement with his eyes. God, those fingers are unfair.

“The treehouse,” Baz says, “ain’t gonna trust your landlady at the other place.”

Ceri nods, pulling his mouth in a thin line. Then he looks back at Dean. “Is this your first time with us?”

“With you?”

“Seeing us?”

“Yeah. It’s… It is. I just got in town.”

Is that too much information?

“Cool,” Baz says. “We were all outsiders once. You’re welcome to our treehouse, if you can handle the games.”

“Games?” Charlie asks with smirk that’s never left her face. “Board games?”

Ceri hums. Dean notices thinking it’s a beautiful sound.

“Not quite. At my place, we play physical games. More social ones.”

“Hide and seek?” Charlie suggests. The way she side-eyes Dean doesn’t go unnoticed.

“For example, yes. I was thinking Grapevine tonight.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Dean says, fully aware of the dreamy face he must be doing at Ceri right now. He, luckily, doesn’t seem too bothered with it.

“You will,” he says, the side of his mouth curling up into a half-smile, “if you’re brave enough.”

Baz bursts out into laughter. “It’s nothing, Dean, really. It’s a whispering game.”

“Do you have to wake up early?” Dean asks Charlie, realizing she’s the one out of the two of them with a job.

She shrugs. “Can’t remember. But if you’re asking if I’ll pass up an infamous treehouse night for a job I don’t even like, you’re wrong.”

 

 *

 

Dean doesn’t know what he expected out of a place that the circus people called a treehouse, but whatever it was, this wasn’t it. Hidden in the forest behind a badly lit trail and quiet ten minutes of walking, a two-story building stands tall in a small opening. As Ceri walks closer, the motion controlled lights come on and reveal all of it; the wooden structure, rooftop level with surrounding trees, patios all around the two floors. They need to walk up a spiral staircase before entering the front door, and Dean can’t help but to peek over the railing. It’s good that the darkness hides most of the ground now, because up here, he’s a bit dizzy.

His nervousness evaporates the instant they’re inside the house. It’s stunning; decorated with the style of log cabins in the north, but with a modern twist that allows Ceri to live there around the year if he so decides. Dean’s legs instantly take him to the fireplace, and with an encouraging nod from Jo, he starts to set up fire. It’s not particularly cold in the house,  and they’d surely warm the place right up with this many people here, but it’s been a while since Dean’s last seen fire.

Until recently, it’s been a part of his days — starting fires, waiting for them to gather enough heat, and working on glass. The memory makes him sigh; he kind of misses it already. As much as it felt pointless to make a cup after a cup after a cup, it gave him a sense of purpose.

“What’cha thinking about?” Charlie whispers in his ear, making him startle a little. Shaking his head, Dean reaches to throw another log in the fire.

“Not much. I mean — not a conversation for this place.”

“Oh, sure. We’ll get back to it. So… What’s your game plan, here?”

Dean frowns up at Charlie. Her cheeks are tinted red and Dean wonders whether it’s the fire or if she’s already had enough alcohol.

“Do I need one?”

“I mean… You did seem interested in Ceri.”

“And you hoped I’d become a paramour, but you didn’t specify what that means. Go on.”

“That was a slip-up. I… Shit. It would be like telling you what’s underneath the Christmas paper wrapper, so no, there’s nothing you can say to make me tell you.”

“If I’m in danger and end up circus food, I will haunt you forever.”

Charlie just wiggles her eyebrows and places a hand on his shoulder. “So, when are you gonna talk to him?”

“I don’t—”

Baz appears next to them at that, so Dean snaps his mouth shut.

“You want something to drink?”

“What do you have?” Charlie asks. As Baz talks her through the contents of the liquor cabinet, Dean feels an unfair pang of jealousy at the thought of Baz being comfortable here. Is he Ceri’s significant other, a fuckbuddy, or a best friend? All those options are equally bad, because Dean’s two-beer mind has now decided he wants all of them himself.

And it feels even worse to even think about doing anything else but letting this beautiful creature live his own life without being dragged down by an anxious mess like Dean.

 

Soon enough, Ceri calls all of them to join him upstairs. A large living room covers what Dean assumes is most of the upper floor room, and the first thing he notices is the large bookshelf that takes almost all of the right-side wall. Some of the shelves are filled with ornaments instead of books, and on the uppermost shelf, a candelabra made by Dean stands tall. It’s not unlikely, per se; some of his works are exported, and every now and then people from abroad come buy his items. Artisan things are in high value among some circles, and Dean’s been happy to provide. Still, it’s odd to come across something he’s made right here.

He even remembers making it.

“Dean,” Ceri says, suddenly standing next to him. His voice feels like a stroke on Dean’s cheek. “What do you see?”

“I… Uh.” He needs to physically restrain himself from bombarding Ceri with questions about his performance. It’s hard, because this is the first time nobody else’s attention is on them. “The candelabra. Where’s it from?”

Ceri squints, as if he’s trying to remember. “It’s a hand-me-down from a friend. I’ve had it for a while.”

“Oh,” Dean says.

“You like it? You can have it.”

Dean frowns and turns to look at Ceri, who looks back with nothing but earnestness in his royal blues. Dean tries to recall a time in his life when someone has instantly offered him something he likes and draws a blank.

“No, I… I blow glass myself.”

Something flashes in Ceri’s eyes, and if Dean was more secure of himself, he’d think it desire — although, if that were the case, Dean would need to reassess Ceri’s taste. Who in the world thinks glassblowing is hot?

No, but it’s there. For the briefest of seconds, Ceri’s eyes flick to Dean’s lips.

_Oh, god._

“Are you ready to play?” he asks then, and Dean needs to almost physically wrench his head out of the gutter.

“Please,” he manages. Another brief flash — intrigue, perhaps? — passes Ceri’s features before he turns around and leaves. Dean inhales and exhales slowly before turning around and walking up to Charlie. She’s got a question on her face, but Dean shrugs it off.

“Alright, if you could scoot a little closer, honeys,” Baz says. People Dean didn’t even know were present gather up in the living room and stand there to listen. Dean tries to keep his ears focused on Baz’s words, but he’s also mesmerized by all these circus talents now surrounding him. What surprises him perhaps the most is that they all look that peculiar sort of ethereal; like they exist only ninety percent here, and ten somewhere else. Dean laughs, because the thought is surreal. He can feel a couple of people turn to look at him in the sudden silence, and flushes at the unnecessary attention.

“If you’d all please take a seat, and we can start with Grapevine. I’m also feeling pretty murder-y right now, so we’re probably gonna play that afterwards,” Baz continues and gestures everyone to sit on the ground with a downward sweep of his palms. Dean follows the example, only to notice he’s now seated between Jo and Ceri.

It’s fine.

It’s _fine_.

He takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly.

“So, it’s a game where _moi_ , because I am the master of ceremony outside Eden and overall awesome, come up with a sentence and whisper it to Helios over here,” he says, gesturing to a handsome man next to him.

“All of you but our newcomers already know to call me Max,” he says, “so I’ll spare you the need to learn two names for me.”

“Got it,” Charlie says cheerfully. Dean lowers his gaze to Ceri’s hand that the guy is currently leaning against, his back almost completely turned to Dean to see Baz better. Light blue, glossy nail polish. Dean feels the bottom of his stomach drop into the darkness below the house.

“And Max will whisper it forward, you get the gist of it. At the end of the row, Lisa over there will tell you what she heard, and probably it’s gonna be shits and giggles. Who knows. The most important thing is to repeat the sentence exactly as you heard it whispered to you. No alternating to make it funny — and no Enochian, Ceri.”

Ceri clicks his tongue dramatically. “Fine. I guess I’ll oblige.”

“Right. Let’s do this.”

Baz leans closer to Max and whispers something in his ear. While Max lets out a breathless laugh of _what?_ It finally clicks in Dean’s head. Ceri is going to whisper something in his ear. He’s going to lean physically close, breathe in his hair, and oh god, Dean is probably going to die.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

There’s a couple of people before the whisper reaches Ceri, and he huffs out an exasperated breath upon hearing it. Then, he turns to Dean, and as if noticing him for the first time since they talked glassblowing, tilts his head a little. His gaze feels way too personal for a situation where all eyes are on him, but then, he gestures Dean to lean closer.

He articulates perfectly, his whisper is almost silent, and — and Dean has no idea what he says. He leans back to look Ceri in the eyes _oh shit, there are_ galaxies _in those eyes,_ and Ceri seems to see something in Dean, too, and it’s too intense too soon —

His most primitive defense reaction is to burst out laughing, and that’s what he does. Ceri blinks at him, thankfully amused, and it takes a while for Dean to collect himself.

“Are— Baz, are we allowed redos? I heard nothing this bastard just said.”

Ceri frowns and rolls his eyes almost fondly. “I’m not a bastard.”

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Jo says from behind Dean and Ceri shoots her a scowl.

“You’re allowed one redo. I’d suggest listening better,” Baz says, and before Dean can start panicking about whether everyone sees just what a mess Ceri has made of him, adds, “although I got to admit, Ceri’s the worst whisperer I’ve ever seen… Or, actually, heard.”

“Alright,” Dean says. He braces himself. “I can do this.”

Ceri hums thoughtfully and leans closer again. This time, his hand accidentally or _accidentally_ ends up on top of Dean’s on the floor between them, and it takes all of Dean’s strength to not lean in and press himself against Ceri.

He wonders if he’s ever felt like this towards a stranger. The answer is _no_. He’s enchanted.

But he manages to hear the sentence this time.

 

*

 

After many ifs and buts have turned to candy and nuts, they call it quits on Grapevine. Ceri offers them a round of drinks from his seemingly endless liquor cabinet, and after a while of happy drinking and chattering, he clinks his glass with a spoon.

“Okay. Are all of you hearing me? Perfect.”

He’s opened a button of his white shirt. It’s ridiculous and gross.

“At this point, I’d like to tell you that we’re going to deal with darkness soon. If you’re uncomfortable with darkness that’s only eased by the small LED lights by the stairs to prevent tripping, please raise your hand now.”

Someone Dean can’t remember the name of raises his hand. Ceri nods.

“You’re welcome to wait this out in my bedroom. As for the rest of you… We’re going to play Slit Throat Murder. Imagine Wink Murder, but in the dark, and instead of winking at each other, the murderer will be slicing throats.”

Ceri’s expression is serious as he speaks, and it’s only when Max sweeps his finger across his throat that Dean realizes how the “murdering” is going to happen.

“Rules are simple; move in the dark. If your throat gets sliced, you die and have to fall on the floor. When someone comes across you, they yell _murder,”_ Ceri cups his hands around his mouth and yells MURDER on a singsong voice that makes Dean laugh, “puts on the lights, and we’ll call a town meeting back here. The murdered can only answer with a _yes_ , and everyone can try and guess who did the murdering. You can ask the murdered whatever your heart desires apart from one thing; gender. Don’t ask whether the murderer is female or male because other people _might not know the answer_. Assuming genders is — well, rude, for one thing, but can also be dangerous. Other limitations do not apply. The murderer is allowed to lie to keep people off their trail, and there’s one more catch; if you suspect someone, ask your townsfolk to second you. If you get it wrong, either of you — you’ll die and are out of the game.”

People ask additional questions while Dean wanders to the kitchen to pick up a beer. He feels a bit tipsy but has no intention to be super drunk so he steers clear from the liquors. He still harbors a wish of talking to Ceri about his piece, although to be honest, it might be a far-fetched dream with this many people around.

He also wants to tap into that endless pool of attraction he feels towards Ceri. Is it just because he’s stressed and desperate for a distraction? Is it because he was freaked out by what the psychics told him, or because he was really impressed with Ceri’s movement onstage? Swiping off the condensation from the neck of the bottle, he thinks back to seeing Ceri at the bar and instantly having the hots for him. He also can’t help but think about Ceri being a man — he’s not entirely new to the bisexual game, but still… Would he already have made his move if Ceri was a chick? Flirting with women has always been his second nature, and male attraction sometimes makes him shy.

Ceri certainly seems the type who likes initiative. There’s nothing that a guy like Dean could give him.

Charlie gestures for him to return to the living room then, and they’re all handed paper strips that either have _innocent_ or _guilty_ written on them. Dean tries to look around to see if someone’s reaction gives it away, but everyone seems perfectly calm. He’s innocent himself, which is a happy thing; he doesn’t know how to do the whole sneaky murder thing.

“If you’re ready, let’s turn the lights out,” Baz says, drawing out the words. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

Absolute darkness falls.

“What if I break something?” a tentative voice asks.

Ceri laughs. When it’s dark, it sounds like he’s closer.

“I’ve got nothing important laying around and I sure as hell won’t be angry if you break something. Just don’t climb on the bookshelf, please.”

“Fair,” Dean says. Everyone else is quiet, or already left.

“Okay. Now, let’s scatter. The murderer will be here soon.”

 

Dean manages to get downstairs without tripping, and it only takes him five minutes — the LED lights are way too dim for his unaccustomed eyes. He’s not comfortable walking stairs in the darkness to begin with, but these are wooden and curve a little, and Dean considers them somehow very much _alive_.

There’s a couple of people he bumps into and with the fire reduced to embers and being of no use in lighting things up, he learns early on to keep his arms straightened in front of him. He can’t remember the outline of the house, but whenever he meets a wall, he keeps on tracing it with his fingertips. At one point, he’s pretty sure he hears Charlie snickering somewhere close, but he can’t exactly talk to her right now.

The first _murder_! Is heard from upstairs, and the lights come on. Dean is just about to touch Dayo, who’s standing still in front of him, and they share an awkward laugh about it before heading back upstairs. The murdered person turns out to be one of the people Dean doesn’t know the name of, and they really have not much to go on with at this point. _Yes_ , they saw who murdered them. _Yes_ , they know the murderer from times before tonight. When asked about whether the murderer left immediately after murdering them, they fall silent — an implication of _no_ they can’t say out loud.

A short questioning takes place. Mostly people just explain where they were when the murder took place, and nobody stands out — there’s not particularly lots to tell between two floors and the darkness.

“I’m gonna take a gamble, you know,” one of the people, a guy with an impressive mullet, says. “J’accuse! Does someone second me?”

Dean bites his lower lip, unwilling to say anything. Charlie, on the other hand, lifts her arm up with a happy yelp.

“I do!”

“Alright,” Baz says slowly, “point towards the person you assume to be the murderer in three, two, one —”

They both point at Max, who lets out an uncomfortable groan and a “whaaaat?”

“Your poker face seems too solid,” the other accuser explains.

“And it didn’t occur to either of you that I just look like this?”

“I mean—” Charlie says and sighs. “Of course. Still, you were the most likely suspect. You’ve been doing the blue steel so long I don’t know if you can make other expressions anymore.”

Max laughs dryly. “Joke’s on you, I’m innocent.”

“Fuck!” the guy yells and bursts out laughing. “Well, that’s it, then. Max, can I offer you a drink?”

“I’m still game,” Max shrugs. “I know what your drinks are, Ash, and I’m saying no tonight.”

“Respectable choice,” Ash says. Dean wonders if hooking up is a thing these people do with each other a lot, but the lights go out before he finishes the thought.

“Round two,” Baz says, “stay safe.”

 

This time, Dean decides to stay upstairs. He walks to the wall next to the staircase and realizes he doesn’t know anything of the furniture here; he hits his toe into a chair and lets out a silent curse.

He only makes it behind what he assumes is a couch when he can feel someone in the space with him. It’s possible it’s someone else trying to find a safe spot from the murderer, but the more time that passes, the more Dean feels like he’s being hunted.

The smallest amount of light enters the space from the window next to Dean, and that’s when he sees it; a figure’s standing at barely an arm’s length from him, completely still. Dean lets out an involuntary gasp before realizing it’s not probably clever. It doesn’t matter, though — there’s no way he hasn’t been seen yet.

The figure takes a step closer and suddenly, there’s no mistaking the identity — this is Ceri. Dean manages to keep his follow-up gasp inside and he hopes that his suddenly thrumming heart isn’t audible in the silent darkness. His fear of being murdered is instantly replaced with his fear of ruining the moment, whatever the moment might be, and Ceri smells like what galaxies might smell like, or circus performances and warm sugar combined with sandalwood. They gravitate towards each other like particles of the universe, and Ceri lifts his hand to place it on Dean’s clavicle.

What’s going on? When did this happen? Why does it feel like this is the most logical and natural thing to happen right now? Dean’s head is spinning and he can’t get enough of the moment that he’s both wanting to last forever and end in a kiss right about now, and then —

And then Ceri slowly, so _fucking slowly_ , runs his fingertip across Dean’s neck.

 

 *

 

The murderer is never caught.

Charlie decides they need to call it a night when the time’s closer to four than it is to three. She decides to try and sleep it off at the restaurant, her morning shift coming up soon enough and all, and they make their way back together. After exchanging short goodbyes, Dean retires to the mansion feeling like he could drop into full sleep in seconds.

He doesn’t. Everything that happened today immediately starts honing in on him, gnawing at the back of his mind, refusing to let go until he stops twisting and turning and decides it’s better to keep his eyes open. The traffic outside splatters the ceiling in warm whites and light blues, and for a while, Dean thinks of home.

Central Aleidia is completely shut off from cars, and since Dean has been living in the castle for ages now, it’s unfamiliar for him to hear them. Back when he was living with his father and Sam at the cottage in the outskirts of town, he had learned to recognize different cars; many out of dread, because some of Dad’s acquaintances were fishy at best, and one out of wanting to hear it so bad — no matter how things were at the house, Dean always felt a special spark of joy upon hearing the Impala wheels turning on their homeyard gravel.

Homesickness rumbles and pulls inside his chest, and like once before today, he decides it’s time to call Sam tomorrow. Preferably in the morning, and that means he can stay awake for a while longer, pretending to think of what to say to him.

It has been the longest day. Dean can’t believe it’s been around twelve hours since he met Missouri, and even less since he met Pamela. He tries to recall what they told him but to be fair, Pamela only confirmed what Missouri already said before she drove him away. Missouri’s words, on the other hand, are a completely different enigma.

Besides Jasper pretty much being on his way to Dean already, she told him that he doesn’t exist. How does that make sense? The only explanation Dean can come up with is that Jasper has changed enough during these years that not even psychics can pick up his… His aura, or spirit, or whatever it is they’re trying to pick up on. If that’s the case, it’s definitely not looking good for someone like Dean to find him, either… All he has to go by is a vague memory and some pictures of the Royal Family he can find on Google. Well, the odds have been stacked higher against him before, so he’s not giving up right at the start.

If he had to guess, the big decisions coming up could be about Jasper’s future. It’s not likely he wants to get back to his kingdom now that he’s been away for so long, and no amount of convincing would change that. It could be up to Dean to decide whether he calls the authorities on him and forces him to return; and while that’s iffy to even think about, surely the other option isn’t better? Letting Jasper slide would not only jeopardize Dean’s future, but Sam’s as well. Hell, if the people were mad enough, they’d try and find anyone in Dean’s circle of acquaintances to pull into this.

Not that there’s that many acquaintances to begin with. Just hanging out with Charlie today made him feel important in a manner that he’d almost forgotten already.

It hardly matters. He’s here to do a task and he needs to succeed. Tomorrow, he’ll call Sam and continue looking for Jasper — and probably spend an unnecessary amount of time reminiscing about tonight. It’s probably a good thing he and Ceri aren’t likely to meet again. He can’t lose focus.

Before falling asleep, he remembers he never did ask Ceri what had inspired his performance.

Shit.

 

In his dreams he’s a child running in the snowy forest behind Aleidia. He’s not alone.

 

 


	4. s'il revient de son voyage

A knock on the door pulls Castiel out of his thoughts. There’s no way it’s anyone but his landlady, so he finishes his coffee in peace before hopping off the kitchen table. It creaks under him and he wonders how many hop-offs he has left before that needs to be tended to. Downsides of dumpster-diving some of his furniture.

When he finally opens the door, Pamela’s standing there with her arms crossed. “I can’t believe you’d let me wait.”

“Yet I did,” Castiel says with a dry laugh. “I’ve mentioned not running in before noon.”

“Yes, well, this couldn’t wait. Are you going to offer me some coffee or what?”

“Is that how this relationship works? I pay you rent, I pay for your coffee?”

“And I give you the sanctuary of this house in return. Which is why I’m here today.”

Despite his words, Castiel walks back to the kitchen and prepares a cup for Pamela; black, two sugars, just like she loves it. She makes her way to the table and listens to the sounds of the apartment for a while. The familiar whirring of Castiel’s two kinetic sculptures mixes up with the creaking of the old ceiling in the wind, and to Castiel, it sounds like home more often than not.

Sometimes, the corners feel both too small and too quiet, but he tends not to think about that.

Eventually, Castiel puts the coffee cup down in front of Pamela and takes a seat opposite her. “Alright, you’ve obviously got some tea to spill, so please do so.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“I am. You’re worrying me, Pam.”

“For a reason. Listen, someone came looking for you yesterday.”

“Oh. Okay?”

Pamela swallows. “Someone came looking for _Jasper_ yesterday.”

A stab of terror instantly fills Castiel’s chest. He inhales sharply, desperately tries to keep his mind from spinning out of his control, and lets his exhale come out with a whine. Pamela smiles at him knowingly, as if she already went through these thoughts yesterday.

Castiel knows the answer, but he asks anyway. “Are you sure? It’s not like Jasper is an uncommon name.”

“He was specifically asking about a Prince Jasper.”

“Shit,” Castiel hisses, “shit, okay. Uh. Who was it?”

“Didn’t get to introduce himself, I drove him out immediately. Lashed out more than I should’ve, which may or may not lead to problems later. He was… well, hot.”

“You think ninety percent of men are hot so that barely counts.”

“I know. He had a nice, warm voice, he sounded a bit rough around the edges but obviously a person with a good heart in there somewhere. He was in a hurry.”

Castiel sighs. “That’s nothing for me to go with. You psychoanalyzed him, right?”

“Don’t call it that. But yes. I voiced my intuitions and it seemed to sink in. Now, I… He was anxious, but not in a way that a person on the hunt would be. Some underlying current implied that he’s also running away from something.”

“Do you know… Do you think he was from Sanan? Did he have an accent?”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not a particularly distinguishable accent. You waddled in in your early teens and I would’ve thought you were local — and your flawless French did nothing to dispel that assumption.”

“Perks of being royal, I guess.”

“Perks of being a psychic was to guess you’re a runaway prince before your sorry ass told me,” Pamela says and hums against the rim of her coffee cup.

“Alright, enough of that. Would you recognize this person if you met him again?”

“If he talked straight at me, probably.”

“It would be good to have some more information about him. So if, for some reason, you bump into him again, do you think you could interrogate him?”

“That would be highly unethical of me,” Pamela says slowly. She’s wearing red lipstick that accentuates her mouth as she frowns. “Before you can argue, though, you’re right. Sometimes you’ve got to bend your ethics for the greater good.”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if this wasn’t serious.”

“I know.” They both stay silent for a while, after which Pamela stands up. “Thank you for the coffee. If I see him again, I will talk to him.”

Castiel hums in lieu of a nod and leans against the kitchen counter. His nails find their way between his teeth instinctively and a sharp snap disturbs the remote silence.

Pamela stills and sighs. She doesn’t turn to face Castiel anymore, but he can see her profile; she’s shaken.

“I recommend some 432 Hertz binaural. You can decide how much you believe in it, some think it’s nonsense. Put some on, calm yourself down. See what you can do to keep yourself from temptations.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything — he doesn’t have the time because Pamela’s already out. With a resigned sigh, Castiel closes his eyes. Traffic outside is Sunday slow, and it takes him a while to concentrate on the sounds he’s hearing. When he’s pretty sure he’s got it down, he moves to the living room section of his one-room attic apartment and takes a seat on the coffee table. He flips open the laptop, and while waiting for it to wake up he digs his fingers under the top planks of the pallets the coffee table is made of.

The first thing he sees is his Google search for Dean and Charlie and the embarrassment of the sight overwhelms him for a while. It was a desperate attempt, but it was all he had; he didn’t get their last names and didn’t want to submit to asking Jo about Charlie.

He can barely remember what Dean looks like now anyway, so it’s easy to close the search and look up some binaural beats.

 

*

 

It’s late afternoon when Castiel returns to Eden. Balthazar and Kevin — Dayo — are doing stretches and getting ready for tonight’s performance, and even though Castiel feels immensely happy that they’re allowed another season of great acts and decent income, there’s not enough binaural to help him calm down with the information that they might all be in danger again.

“Hey,” he says as he gets to Balthazar, “can we talk?”

Balthazar considers him a while before nodding. “Keep it snappy. My thighs are killing me and I need them well stretched before tonight.”

Castiel huffs and tugs Balthazar further away by his elbow. They make it behind Jo’s second act props before Castiel needs to get it off his chest.

“Someone’s looking for me. Someone’s looking for _Jasper_.”

Balthazar frowns and Castiel can spot the moment he puts on a brave mask. The flash of fear before that is brief, but it’s there.

“Have you talked to Rowena?”

“I found out this morning. Someone came to see Pamela in hopes of finding the runaway prince.”

“There’s a long way from the gatekeeper to the inside circle,” Balthazar says, probably mostly to reassure himself, “but we need to waste no time. Rowena’s out back, let’s do this.”

 

It’s unfortunate that Alfie happens to be in Rowena’s company when Castiel and Balthazar bust in through the doors to the stable. There’s a single horse standing happily in her box stall — Rowena saved her from the slaughterhouse years ago and even though she never became a circus horse (mostly because of ethical reasons), Rowena always wanted to keep her close by.

The fact that Alfie is under the horse, cleaning her hooves, doesn’t keep him from hearing perfectly well what Castiel tells Rowena.

“I fear we’re no longer safe.”

Rowena frowns and walks up to Castiel with a short glance towards the stall. “What do you mean?”

“Someone asked Pamela about me. She obviously threw him out instantly, but it could raise suspicions. I’ve got no idea who this person is, whether he’s someone from Sanan or someone from around here, but since it started just like this last time I wanted to let you know immediately.”

“Is Pamela able to find out more?”

“Excuse me,” Alfie asks. His bright eyes are bewildered. “What are we talking about?”

Rowena and Castiel exchange glances, and she nods. “I’ll go inform the others, then. Do you think we should cancel tonight?”

“Not on my account, but ask the others. Alfie, should we take Fiona out for a stroll? I feel a story is long overdue.”

Alfie nods and throws a light bridle on the horse before walking her out of the stall. They slowly head out through the double doors of the stable and for a while, it’s quiet.

Predictably, it doesn’t last. Alfie is young, curious, and ignorant of what’s happened in this circus so far.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but it sounded serious. Are you in trouble?”

“We need to start from the beginning, Alfie. You’re hiding, right? That’s why you’re working here?”

Castiel knows his words come out a bit blunt, but seeing that they only have a couple of hours before the performance tonight and there’s still lots to cover, he needs to start strong enough.

Alfie sighs and nods. “Yes. It’s been half a year since I was thrown out of my home. I… I refused to marry the person I was engaged to. I come from strictly religious circumstances, and they didn’t exactly like it when I told them I’m not a female as I was brought up to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. He wonders if it would be inappropriate to console Alfie by placing a hand on his shoulder for a moment. He decides against it.

“It’s alright. I have to keep a low profile somewhere I’ll never be found, or I’ll need to go back. Dead or alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if my father considered it mercy to kill a heretic like me.”

It pains Castiel to hear this, and not only because he can relate to the kid. He’d been young once, just as let down by the people who should’ve loved him the most, and to see this kind of behavior hasn’t disappeared in a decade is disheartening.

“Now, as you know, we use magic in some of the acts. You’re familiar with the fact that Rowena is a witch, because knowing her she probably spilled it immediately upon meeting you.”

“Yes, she did,” Alfie laughs. He runs his hand down the side of Fiona’s neck, and somehow Castiel wishes he could spare him from what he’s about to say next.

“We’re quantum locked.”

Castiel tries to scout Alfie’s reaction, but he’s just frowning into the distance. He probably needs Castiel to continue talking now.

“All of us here are from circumstances somewhat similar to yours. We’ve run away from home because we were no longer safe, and Rowena took us in to protect us in exchange for our skills and most of the circus profits. Also, she’s hiding herself. She’s cast a protective spell over the circus, which allows both our identities and our location to stay undetected.”

“But that’s good, right?”

Castiel’s chest fills with a rush of pride. Alfie’s taking this a lot better than Castiel hoped...So far.

“Yes. It’s really good and we owe a lot to Rowena. The thing is, the spell has all our fates intertwined. If one of us is found here, we’re all in danger.” He sighs, trying to form his thoughts into somewhat coherent sentences. Talking about this already made him forget they might no longer be safe. “Rowena is followed by entities not from this plane of existence, and if the security is breached for one of us, it’s breached for all of us. Not only will all of us be on the radar of people trying to locate us, we will also be subject to all those entities currently trying to find Rowena.”

“Right,” Alfie says absentmindedly, his fingers now combing Fiona’s hair. “So basically, someone has now asked the psychic about your whereabouts, which means they might be closing in on you.”

“Exactly.”

“And finding you would break the quantum lock and probably kill us all.”

“It’s likely, yes.”

“If our identities are shielded by Rowena’s spell, how could we be found even by someone who walked right in?”

“Two ways, really. Either someone recognizes us by having seen us before, or someone gains our trust and we reveal it ourselves.”

“’Kay,” Alfie manages. He’s obviously a bit shocked, but it’s nothing too serious — he’ll probably go ride Fiona for a while and return much more collected. Castiel wishes he still rode a horse himself.

“We’ll have a meeting about what actions need to be taken before tonight’s show, but do you have any questions?”

“A big one. You mentioned a _last time_ , which implies this has happened before.”

“Yes.” Castiel hesitates. “It was a year after I came to Canada. My family wasn’t eager on giving up finding me, and as an adult I now realize it wasn’t because they were worried, but because they had a reputation to uphold. Someone picked up a trail I foolishly left and found me — back then, one of Rowena’s friends was a glassblower and his workshop was the only place I felt safe. So these people come in, kill the glassblower; and as they call me by my name and grab my hand, the room is filled with these shadows, these demonic entities I’d never known existed in the first place. I’d later hear that friends were killed by these things, and some could recall being possessed by them. It was chaotic, and the only reason I escaped was because my captors instantly fell on their knees, praying to God for salvation. I ran until I was back at the circus,” he looks back to the tent looming a couple hundred meters away and sighs. “Rowena collected the rest of us, moved the circus from Moncton to Grand Falls, and crafted another spell over us, shielding us once more. She made us live close to the circus this time because, apparently, her spell wasn’t strong enough when people were scattered all over town.”

“What trail did you leave behind? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Uh, I had some money left from my old home country and had it exchanged. I didn’t know they kept tabs on money changers and banks.”

“They sound like influential people.”

“Well, yes. My father is the King of Sanan.”

Realization dawns on Alfie’s face. “And you’re the crown prince. Wow. Well. I get why they’re after you again.”

“Yes. It’s likely Father’s about to pass away and they need me to rule the country.”

“And what does that make you feel?”

“Nothing. I left all that behind a long time ago. I just want to make choices for myself.”

Alfie nods and says nothing more. Slowly, they make their way back to the tent.

 

The meeting drags on until they absolutely must start preparing. Nothing too drastic is decided, but they need to keep track of who spends time with them from now on — if the man who met Pamela saw Castiel, he’d probably recognize him. Beyond that, all they can do is keep their guard up and let Rowena handle the spell.

A part of Castiel really wants to talk about this to someone that’s not inside their circle — he could do with a fresh perspective. There’s nobody he trusts enough outside of the house though… At least, not here.

The thought almost sends him spiraling, and he has to physically ground himself by biting his tongue; it’s impossible that he still thinks like this, that he still trusts someone he met almost twenty years ago and hasn’t seen since. He’s being ridiculous and romanticizing the memory of the night he ran away, but it’s been like this for as long as he remembers. Still, he can’t help it. He’s got a feeling that he both gained and lost something valuable that night, and no matter how many glassblowers he meets after, that isn’t going to change.

 

 *

 

The best part of performing at Eden is that since most of the people coming to see them are locals or visitors from nearby towns, they can spice it up often. In Castiel’s case, it means he can perform one of his other favorite dramatic numbers — that of _Le jour le plus froid du monde._ His backdrop consists of old clock parts and his lyra is a haphazardly manufactured cogwheel with bare spots in crucial places. With cold-white lights falling on his skin, he performs the story of a boy with his heart frozen solid. Keeping his moves sharp and his stretches long, for a while his brain is blissfully empty. This lyra allows him to swing today, so he brings the momentum up fast and hard, adjusts his body so he can drop down just when he’s above the audience, catching himself only by his ankles before swinging back. He feels his stomach drop from the change in force, and closes his eyes for a moment.

God, he loves this feeling. He can’t help but extend his arms and let the air wash over him — cleansing, absolute air that pierces through his skin and enters his veins — and then he’s at the other end of his swing and it pulls him out of his reverie. He yanks himself up, using half momentum and half his muscles, and places his body so he’s a picture-perfect side-view of the man in the moon. His feet feel a little numb after the hanging he just pulled off, so he wiggles his toes as he waits for the next part of the show to start.

When the song changes, the lights are off him and he can relax again. The pose is nice, so he doesn’t feel the need to change it up immediately, but his toes still feel uncertain and that makes him a little worried of the next time he needs to look pristine for the crowd. For now, though, he can let his gaze wander in the people in the audience; it’s a half-full tent, nice for a Sunday night. From where Castiel is currently hanging, he can see every single one of the people in here. At first, he’s not sure what draws his eye to the left side of the seats. As soon as he sees someone looking up at him, however, he realizes it’s because everyone else is currently looking at Kevin and Meg below him.

He frowns. Why would anyone be looking at him when he’s in the dark? He manages a little sway to his lyra, and it allows him to get that crucial meter closer and _oh, that’s Dean._ For the briefest of seconds, his stomach feels like it does when he’s swinging high and far, but he quenches the feeling immediately. Instead, he tilts his head and tries to guess what Dean’s thinking right now. Is he still mad because Castiel murdered him last night? He did seem a little lost for words.

No, that wasn’t it. He seemed _out of breath_ , and Castiel wishes he was foolish enough to not understand what it means.

 _Maybe that would make him good hookup material though_ , his treacherous brain supplies, making Castiel roll his eyes.

He lets the thought slide for now. Maybe Dean’s here because he’s harboring secret feelings for Jo. It would make sense, since he probably knows her through Charlie as well — and if he’s going to ignore the fact that Jo’s engaged, that’s enough to put a damper on Castiel’s whatever-this-feeling-is.

Intrigue. Interest. Infatuation?

Whatever. It doesn’t even make sense after only seeing Dean once. No amount of good looks are going to excuse Castiel thinking twice about the guy.

And yet.

Luckily, the lights swoop up towards him so he needs to focus again. His feet already feel better, and it’s easy for him to bend them around the hoop so he’s hanging upside-down from the backs of his knees. He reaches down with his arms while Meg, standing on a low platform, reaches up. When their hands meet, the music starts after a minute of silence, and Meg laughs. It’s a practiced actress’ laugh, but she’s beaming throughout as she starts to spin him around and around, using herself as the axis. Early on, Castiel used to get nauseous of all the spinning, but that’s long since been history. It’s his second nature to spin.

Eventually, Meg lets go and sends him spinning around the room, over the gasping audience, and he curls himself up into a ball to hold the speed up for as long as possible. He can’t see it, but Meg’s doing some basic combat poses as if they’re still fighting — and he matches the moves by acting like he’s on the receiving end of some good punches, flipping and falling around the lyra but never fully letting go. It’s just on the side of too whimsical for Castiel’s personal preference, but the audience is now laughing and that’s what he’s here for. He steers his pendulum back towards the center and Meg sends him flying again, and this happens two more times until it’s time for the finale of this particular act. Meg raises her hand up and Castiel takes it, and she’s strong, and he’s strong, and the movement stops almost completely until they’re a sudden, modern take of The Creation of Adam.

The audience roars. Castiel’s breath feels hot on his lungs, but he and Meg are smiling at each other.

 

*

 

Alicia is feeling restless after the meeting and how they could all be spiraling towards an early grave, so she decides to throw an impromptu bodypainting workshop. Since she mentioned it to Rowena during the show tonight, the audience could be informed to hold off leaving for a moment longer — and that’s why at least twenty curious people circle in on Alicia, Balthazar, Kevin, and Max after the lights come on and the music is changed into something that’s suitable for groovy background noise. Castiel’s not completely surprised when he sees Dean in the crowd as well, but he’s disarmed before his smile nonetheless.

Maybe it’s the smile Castiel’s attracted to. It’s been ages since he last saw a stranger smile at him like they’re equals. It’s not that people consider circus acts less than; usually, it’s the other way around. Not that he can complain about people’s admiration — he loves to be noticed, loves to be seen, and loves to wow his audience. But it’s not a human they see.  

He forgets these thoughts for now and wiggles his toes against the soft carpet flooring of the tent. Something’s off with them, and he might need to go see a doctor if the numbness won’t go away; but for now, it’s easy to get lost in the way Alicia talks about her skill. When Alicia employs Max to show his brush techniques with Castiel as his canvas, he rids himself of his shirt and flops down on a barstool brought to the center of the stage. Alicia frees her audience so they can come see what’s going on themselves and starts working on Jo, gets Kevin to paint on Lisa, and even though Balthazar is still an amateur painter, he starts with Meg.

Castiel hates how he wishes Dean would come greet him, or look at the work Max is doing, or anything, really — but instead, he’s walking circles around Balthazar who instantly makes up for what he lacks in skill with theatrics. Castiel can’t fully see what’s going on, but judging by the broad sweeps of his arm, he’s already full on Picasso-ing his work. Then he’s distracted by all the other people coming to talk to Max and him, and for a second he just listens to Max’s stories about bodypainting.

He's about to ask for clarification about a term he's sure the audience hasn't heard before when, out of the blue, shivers start from his numbing toes and run all the way up to his scalp. Castiel automatically digs his fingers into his thighs to ground himself, even though it’s not exactly faint he feels. For a second it’s like he’s underwater — sounds come to him muted and slowed down. A sharp, hissing breeze passes through his hair, and through the sudden _vignetting_ of his vision he tries to concentrate on the space around him; people are talking and nobody seems to be looking at him yet, except for—

Except for a shadow, there in the darkness on the very edge of the tent. Someone’s standing there, and instead of being still, they’re shifting side to side, almost in a hypnotic dance. Even though their face is hidden in the shadows, Castiel knows he’s being watched, and even though he’s frozen still in what’ll soon prove to be horror, he’s somehow mesmerized by the sight.

A sharp, dry edge of a paint brush sweeps his shoulder blade, yanking him back into reality. At the same time the vignette, the phantom water in his ears, and the figure are all gone. He needs to breathe deeply a couple of times, but all of him -- including his feet -- feels surprisingly normal after.

“All good?” Max asks him in a hushed tone. Castiel nods, frowning.

Someone walks up to them and it takes Castiel a surprisingly long time to realize it’s Dean. Their eyes meet and for a second, the world feels like it’s shifting again.

 _Ridiculous_. Castiel looks away and rolls his eyes at no-one in particular.

“Hello,” Dean says, his voice is playful, “what do we have here?”

Max clicks his tongue with a smile. “This is an interpretation of what Canopus’ solar system might look like. Of course, I had to fake any and all distances here and just make it look neat.”

Dean nods and circles behind Castiel to see what Max is talking about and lets out a low whistle. Castiel hopes Max wasn’t among those people who obviously noticed Castiel’s intrigue with Dean last night — there’s no way he wouldn’t take advantage of a possibility to tease him if he was.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Shoot. Wow. I thought I was… onto something with my constellation glassware but this is something else.”

Castiel turns to give Dean a glance over his shoulder. “Constellation glassware, you say?”

“Yep — and galaxies. I’m really into that whole… Space aesthetic.” He lowers his gaze, letting a frown paint his expression for the briefest moment. “Although usually my clientele wishes for something less extravagant.”

Max hums. “I get it. I paint on canvas when I’m not otherwise occupied,” he gestures up to the trapeze, “and more often than not, it’s either the Eiffel Tower, a flower vase, or a portrait of someone. I would like to paint fractals but eh, that’s only happened once.”

“Max, you’re boring people,” Alicia yelps from the other side of the row of painters. Max scoffs.

“I’m not bored,” Dean says with a shrug.

“Nah, she’s right, you know,” Max says, and his voice is calculated enough for Castiel to notice he’s up to something, “this is a bodypainting workshop, not a show-and-tell of my skills outside this tent. So, considering that you stayed around, is there something you want to know?”

“I was just both bored and curious,” Dean admits, “I don’t think this is something I’ll pursue with my talent obviously being more of the…”

“Blowing nature, yes,” Max finishes and wow, he’s completely shameless. At least Dean just snorts as if this is far from the first time he’s heard this joke. “I get it. Would you like to try anyway? I’m finished here, so if my canvas would be so kind and turn a little, we could quickly put some coverage on your side.”

“What—” Dean says, and he’s just as flustered as Castiel is, “are you kidding? I’ve never painted on a human before, let alone — let alone — a damn _solar system_.”

A moment of silence clarifies that all three of them realize that’s not what Dean was about to say first. Castiel is dying to find out what it was instead, but the moment’s passed before he releases his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“And that’s why you’re doing the side. Come on, Ceri, turn for me, please.”

Castiel obliges and turns just in time to see Max press the brush into Dean’s hand. “The point is to just get some paint here. You’ll get a grasp of how much paint to use to make the skin completely disappear, and how hard it is to make the surface even instead of streaky.”

“Right, of course,” Dean says, huffing out a breath so sharp his cheeks puff out. “Right.”

Castiel lifts his hand to wrap it around himself in an awkward shoulder-self-hug. It’s odd how intense the moment suddenly feels, and Castiel is just about to shake it off when Dean is suddenly a lot closer.

Oh, _shit_.

“Is it okay if I paint on you?” he asks, and the honesty in his voice makes Castiel frown at him. It’s a simple thing, really — asking permission to do something that includes touching Castiel — but then, Castiel’s trying to remember the time he was last asked for consent to touch by anyone he wasn’t sleeping with, but he can’t come up with anything.

So does that mean Dean wants to sleep with him, or should he expect to _always_ be asked?

“Of course,” he says, surprised by the quiet of his voice.

He knows that in reality, it shouldn’t make a difference who’s on the other side of the brush. It feels the same. Realistically.

Nobody gives his heart the memo. While hugging himself, he can feel it beating against his lower forearm, and he tightens his grip in hopes of concealing it. Dean laughs at his brushwork, so does Max, so it must be sloppy.

As Castiel tries to calm himself down -- and reason with his inner voice that’s already starting to imagine Dean’s fingers on his skin instead of the brush -- he remembers Pamela’s words: _you’re no help to yourself or any of our friends if you relapse again._ That, combined with his earlier thought about hooking up, reminds him that not all physical attraction is bad, and if he’d set some ground rules with… Well, with anyone (although right now, he’s stuck on Dean), he could end up in a situation where interacting with people seriously improves his wellbeing.

Encouraged by this, Castiel decides to meet Dean’s eyes for the first time since he started working on him.

Freckles. Shit. His cheekbones and nose are spattered with freckles, and Castiel’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch them. Dean’s focused on getting at least some paint on without skin showing through; his eyes are smiling even though his mouth is in a focused thin line, and while it’s safe to stare without being noticed, Castiel really goes all out on daydreaming. He wonders how it would feel to lift his hand and just brush the side of Dean’s mouth with his thumb, to hunt for that smile that’s playing just beneath the surface. How it would feel when Dean looks up at him, a bit flustered but welcoming the touch nonetheless.

Suddenly, Dean yelps triumphantly. “There we go!”

Max steps forward and nods. “Indeed. Good job, Dean! Do you want to finish up the side?”

“It’s hard as fuck,” he sighs. The curse makes him bite his lip and he happens to look at Castiel at the same time and fuck, fuck fuck fuck that’s both adorable and hot. Castiel shouldn’t be held accountable for the words that come out of his mouth next.

“We’re going to a bar tomorrow night. Want to join?”


	5. tout près de toi le long du rivage

Castiel knows he’s been blessed with the best possible friends. They’re not only willing to accompany him to the bar and work as his alibi for a bar night that never actually existed, but they also don’t call Castiel out on his obvious affection towards Dean. Alicia, Max, Lisa, Balthazar, and Meg join him in Meadow Views, a nightclub-turned-tavern in central Grand Falls. They’re early on purpose, but so is Dean — he’s already sitting by the bar, nursing a drink that’s definitely not a beer, and in all honesty, looking like he just wants to be left alone. Since he accepted Castiel’s invitation and arrived here, Castiel assumes he wants to see them anyway. He makes his way to the bar hesitantly, waving his friends to take a seat at a large table at the end of the dimly-lit room.

“Hey,” Castiel says softly and slides to a seat next to Dean. “You’re already here.”

Dean frowns at his glass and for a second, Castiel thinks he’s wasted. His ability to speak suggests otherwise, and Castiel doesn’t know why he’s pleased to find that out.

“I’ve been here for a couple of hours. The whiskey is not half bad.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“Nah. It’s… Personal. I don’t want to trouble you.”

Castiel orders another whiskey for Dean and an Aviation cocktail for himself, and scoots his chair a little closer.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll ask you about your day, and if you feel like talking about what troubles you, you are welcome to. I’m asking because I want to know, alright? But if you think it’s something you’d rather not think about, well… Then we can go join our friends and down a couple more drinks.”

Dean considers Castiel for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

“So, Dean. How was your day?”

“I… I know we don’t know each other well enough, but all I have here is Charlie and she’s away today, so if it’s okay…” Dean looks up at Castiel, who raises his eyebrows meaningfully. “I fought with my brother.”

“Did you see him?”

“No, we talked on the phone. It seems like we are on different pages when it comes to… Well, pretty much anything regarding future plans or how to spend our lives.”

Castiel is curious to know where Dean is from, because it’s obvious he’s not local — but unless he brings it up himself, there’s no point. Many travelers pass Grand Falls, spend a week or two somewhere on the outskirts of town before moving on to Moncton or St. John, and most of them want a fresh start just like Castiel once did. Besides, if they’re going to get more involved, Castiel needs to establish to Dean that they don’t owe each other anything; no life stories, no commitment, and no declarations of feelings.

“Do you have expectations for your brother, then?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, not really. It’s more that I want him to stay on the path he chose for himself, no matter what distractions come his way, and he… He’s faltering.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says quietly. It’s hard to say anything without knowing more, and it’s not his job to try and help out anyway. He can just stick to listening.

“There’s a lot at stake for me, too. I’ve risked my own…” Dean takes a moment to consider what he wants to say next, and takes a sip of his whiskey, “my own wellbeing to make his future bright. Then suddenly I’m gone, and he’s showing me this new side of himself that wants to go on adventures. And— and don’t get me wrong, I support him and want him to be happy, but what if this is just an impulse? What if he’ll regret it later?”

“What if he’s having a phase,” Castiel says, nodding to himself. These are difficult things; he couldn’t answer these kind of questions about himself, let alone a person he doesn’t know anything about.

“Exactly. I did what I did for him because I wanted to, and I’m not gonna hold him accountable for my actions, but there’s a lot of things to think about. Like, groundbreaking things such as whether I’m still welcome back home if the worst happens.”

“You seem to have given up a lot for your brother.”

“Sammy’s what I have left for a family. I hate that we’re fighting, even though this is just what we do sometimes. All brothers fight.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel laughs dryly, “I’m an only child.”

Dean looks at him for a moment, like he’s registering the information and filing it away somewhere. “Yeah. Well, anyway, I’m sorry I, you know.”

Castiel glances at Dean’s phone that’s sitting between them on the bar table. It lights up semi-regularly and it doesn’t surprise him to see Sammy’s name on the screen. The messages are one-worded and Castiel doesn’t want to spy further — even though Dean very well sees him taking notice and does nothing to prevent it.

“I need to forgive him soon. We’re not good with the whole grudge thing.”

“I bet that’s one of the best things about having a family. Should you do that right now so you can focus on more pressing matters?”

“Are there more pressing matters?”

Castiel gives Dean a smile — he hopes it works like he intends, to keep him from thinking too hard. It’s not completely without flirt either, and Dean seems to catch on, if the faint blush on his cheeks is anything to go by.

“I called you here because I wanted to spend time with you. If this is what you want to talk about all night, I’m perfectly fine with it, but I also see you’re stressed out. We could answer those messages from Sammy, and go talk to our friends over at the table. We don’t have any game plans for tonight, but if you’re willing, we can definitely come up with something. Ding Dong Doorbell’s still a thing, right? That should be nice to play in town.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, which is exactly what Castiel wished for. He watches Dean lift up his phone and scan through the messages. Castiel decides to finish his drink while waiting for Dean to be done with whatever he’s typing, and he’s taken by surprise when Dean places the phone in front of him, clearing his throat.

“Do you think this is… alright?”

Castiel looks at Dean, who’s looking back with earnest helplessness in his eyes. Slightly frowning, Castiel lowers his gaze to the screen. The message is short but heartfelt and while he’s not sure Dean is truly ready to apologize yet, this at least takes the pressure off the current situation for both him and Sammy.

“I like it. Do you want me to send it off?”

“If you could,” Dean sighs and watches as Castiel presses the button. “Thanks.”

Castiel nods. “No problem. Now, do you want to join the others?”

Dean looks over at the table, where Alicia is already waving at them. “Please.”

 

 

They start the night with chatter. Dean doesn’t seem too eager to share things about his past, which Castiel is immensely grateful for considering that if he wants to hook up with Dean at some point, they need to set some ground rules.

Dean does talk about his work, though. He’s blowing glass for clients small and large, and while he’s unwilling to talk about his biggest client, who he apparently owes his life to, he shares anecdotes about the smaller ones. In return, he gets to hear circus stories — the sort they can actually tell without letting him know about the hows and whys of the place — and Castiel is happy to find out Dean seems interested enough. He’s preoccupied with exchanging a couple more messages with Sammy, and after he visibly relaxes, Castiel knows they’re done with their post-argument make-up.

“So,” Dean asks eventually, “what made you all join the circus? Are the reasons as cliche as they are in stories?”

Castiel knows Dean is smart — he doesn’t miss how they all look at each other. This could go one of two ways; they could give their fake stories about how they all just wanted to try something new and hone their performing art skills. That, or they could refuse to answer. This isn’t the first time they’ve been met with this question, and they’ve long since made a deal that they could answer whatever they wanted as long as the truth is protected.

It’s Lisa who starts. “I wanted to see life beyond what was expected for me. I grew up under the control of parents who didn’t think I’d want anything else but to follow in their footsteps and become a professional in the curious field of advertising. I wanted to dance, and when I didn’t feel at home with dance anymore, I started doing acrobatics.”

It’s not far from the truth — except that Lisa’s parents were involved in the mafia and both killed. She was left behind feeling empty and constantly looking over her shoulder in fear of being murdered herself; eventually, Rowena had invited her in.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says, eyes full of sympathy that makes Castiel’s heart leap. He doesn’t know what it is about Dean’s easy-going nature that makes his head soft, but he’s not going to chase and scrutinize whatever it is.

It’s not like he can afford it being something serious.

“It’s been a long time,” Lisa says with a shrug, “I… At some point, we all need to grow up and accept loss.”

Castiel and Balthazar look at each other for a while. It’s a lesson learned through and through, but it doesn’t make it nicer to hear. It sounds cold.

“I know what you mean. I’ve dealt with loss myself, a fair deal of it, in fact, and it…” Dean swallows. “You sort of get used to it. You know it comes with the life you live.”

Castiel tilts his head, considering. He’s interested in hearing more and almost asks, but his brain catches up just in time. _No, we’re not going to ask for more information. We’re going to ensure our own safety by sharing as little as possible._

“We came together,” Max says, gesturing to Alicia and himself, “boredom.”

Boredom or homelessness at age four, what have you.

Balthazar considers Castiel for a while; Castiel knows that look, it’s one of him trying to figure out whether he’s about to make a bad move. Apparently, he sees something, because he leans back and takes a deep breath in.

“I think I can talk for both myself and Ceri here when I’m sharing my story. I was an kid who loved to act, and my hometown didn’t have good opportunities for, well, anyone creative. Ceri, you were born there too so you can relate, right? And so, there was no future for us. You left first, I came not too far behind.”

Balthazar’s eyes bore into Castiel’s and he manages to nod. He’s done this before. He can do this again. “Yes, that’s pretty much how it went.”

It’s not too far from the truth. The King was friends with all kinds of people, both the conservative and the liberal, and both the straight and the “not straight” (as he put it to avoid using anything blasphemous), but he made sure to tell Castiel he was only going to raise a straight prince. Later in life, Castiel has sometimes thought how well-fitting it was of his father’s character and values that he still ended up arranging him a homosexual marriage.

Well, at least he was consistent about one thing. In the end, he hasn’t raised Castiel.

An uncomfortable silence sets upon the table. Castiel’s sure Dean knows at least some of them are lying, but he wants to be polite and keep from prying. It’s respectable, although sometimes Castiel is selfish and hopes all the secrets and lies were forced out of his hands. In addition to what they’re all dealing with right now, another unwelcome presence makes itself known: some citizens of Grand Falls have never thought much of the circus, and at times, they think it’s time to pass them by and yell ableist slurs at them.

“You know what was weird growing up,” Dean starts hesitantly, keeping his eyes on the assholes now making their way to the pool table at the end of the room. When he notices all of the people at the table are instantly looking up at him like he’s some sort of a savior, he grows bolder. “My dad was a respectable man, but he did teach me to hustle.”

“To… Hustle,” Max says, lifting his brows, “hmm. I can’t even start to guess what you mean by that.”

Dean winks at Castiel, fucking _winks_ with a click of his tongue _the little shit,_ and gets up from the table. “How much do you think I should get off these assholes?”

Alicia hums, considering. Castiel gives Dean a pleading look, if not to stop him, then to keep himself safe while doing something incredibly foolish.

“Two hundred?” Balthazar ventures. He’s overestimating it, there’s mischief in his eyes, but Dean just shrugs and nods.

“Sure. Sounds reasonable.”

 

 

While Dean is purposefully losing at the pool table to raise the stakes, Castiel plays a couple of rounds of cards with his friends. Once or twice, Lisa is trying to start a conversation about what’s going on at the circus, but she’s fully aware this isn’t the time or the place for that. Instead, they talk about plans for future shows and how to handle the upcoming couple of days of rain that could affect their tent and yard.

And then, Dean returns. He’s holding two crisp hundreds in his hands and grinning wryly. Castiel opens his mouth to ask him something, but a phantom tug in his legs yanks him off focus in a second. This time, instead of eying what might be wrong in his feet, he instantly looks around to see if the dark figure from before is back — and he’s not disappointed. They’re standing next to the bartender behind the bar, and this time, Castiel can see a bit of their face only half-hidden behind long, unruly hair. While the tug turns into pressure on his ankles, the figure tilts their head. It’s not a regular gesture Castiel’s sometimes guilty of himself; they keep on tilting and tilting their head until it’s almost horizontal — Castiel’s not sure if that’s a pose people can be in, and frankly, he’s too afraid to try. When their head stops tilting, a grin spreads on their mouth and they lift their hand towards Castiel. A white, crooked finger raises to point at him, and he feels his stomach drop into thin air when they cross their neck with the same finger.

The indication couldn’t be clearer.

Castiel tries to move his hands but they’ve turned into stone — concrete, lead-heavy, unyielding, same with his legs. He’s had sleep paralysis more than once in his life and now it’s here in the tavern, more lifelike than ever — why didn’t he notice the moment he fell asleep? He glances down at his hands that are on the table, and everything around him moves in jammed-pause-button slowness. Low voices mix up with gurgling exhales, slow-drawing inhales, and guffawing, hollow laughter. Castiel tries to breathe in but it’s as slow as the surroundings; he’s choking, it’s painful, and while his mind works as fast as always, he can feel his blood flowing slow, so slow — he’ll die if this goes on for a second longer.

He tries inhaling again, and this time, air flows easily. He presses his eyes closed and does it again, and again, and again until he feels faint, and tears are teetering on the edges of his eyelids. There’s no way everyone hasn’t seen his little episode, and there’s going to be way too much to explain to Dean, _way_ too much to ever be comfortable with hooking up with him again —

Except when he opens his eyes, nobody’s looking at him. They’re still listening to the explanation of how Dean won two hundred dollars, and it looks like Dean has only just managed to take a seat.

Like only seconds had passed.

Castiel swallows his fear and confusion for now. He can talk to Pamela if he needs to; he can revisit these thoughts when he’s alone and in the safety of the house. Right now, he’d much rather focus on the present.

 

They finish up a round of both drinks and cards. When they’re thinking about their next move, a group of people approaches them. Castiel can make out the face of one of the guys that yelled at them earlier, but this time, he’s surrounded by five, instead of one, more.

“Look, it’s the circus freaks,” one of the men says. Castiel looks up and meets Dean’s eyes. They share an unspoken moment of _we’re too old for this._

“And this is the bastard that took our money,” another says.

“I think you mean _earned_. I never take anything that isn’t willfully given to me.”

Balthazar, the perv, chuckles at that and gets all of the guys to look at him.

“You think this is funny, pal?”

“I do,” Balthazar says, “pal.”

One of them rolls his eyes and lowers their gaze to Lisa. “So what are you? Three-nippled freak show? Beard all under that pretty dress?”

“Shut your trap,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes right back. There isn’t an insult she hasn’t heard before, and she’ll likely just let the words slide like water off a duck’s back. “Sorry your dick’s tiny, but frankly, I don’t care.”

“What did you just say to me?” A guy yells, taking a step closer to Lisa. Max raises his hand just in time to press it against his chest, halting his further movements.

That, in hindsight, might be a bad idea. The guy, a black-haired smug-looking asshat, widens his eyes almost comically and takes a dramatic step back.

“Are you for real?” he turns to face the men behind him. “Did you see what he did to me?”

“Barely touched you, man,” Max says, raising his brow.

“No, you fucking pushed me, you fucking —”

In a second, the whole room is filled with shouting. The black-haired guy shoves Max hard enough to almost topple him over, and Balthazar rises from his seat to defend his friend, and Alicia’s shouting them to fucking quit it already, and what must be only ten seconds but feels like a lot longer, everything is chaotic. Castiel’s against physical violence, but he can’t sit still forever, and any nanosecond now, he needs to —

Dean stands up, steps on the bench and lifts his other leg to the table. Cupping his hands in front of his mouth to amplify his voice, he whistles, loud and clear. Since it has no much effect, he clears his throat and shouts.

“Those who believe in telekinetics, raise my hand!”

Castiel blinks. Is that — is that _Vonnegut_? No matter, because the statement is odd enough to make the black-haired guy turn his focus to him. The rest of his gang immediately fall away from their high school-esque formation that they had going on behind him.

Dean, very, very slowly, starts lifting his hand. He lets his mouth fall open with a dramatic snap and manages a horrified expression in his eyes.

“Okay, this isn’t funny,” he says, casting glances at each of them, “which of you bastards is doing this?”

There’s a screech to his voice, and it confuses everyone within hearing range. Also, it’s just enough for the black-hair to turn around to his friends and start asking hushed questions about what to do next.

“Right, let’s go,” Dean mutters, hops off the bench and starts for the door. Knowing it’s now or never, Castiel, as well as everyone else in the company tonight, follow him.

 

The air feels cold as it pushes its way through Castiel’s throat. He stops and bends over — not because he’s actually winded, but because the smile on his face almost frightens him. It’s rare that strangers make him feel this good, and he’s learned to lean away as soon as it happens. He doesn’t need the pain that irrevocably comes with the joy; he doesn’t need the reminder that he’s doomed to always being the fancy circus ride who’s good for one go.

He shakes his head, staring at the ground, and promises the second he straightens up, he’ll look at Dean and see a boring, eleven-in-a-dozen guy who can’t hold his interest.

He straightens with a huff and meets Dean’s eyes. They’re sparkling from the same joy Castiel felt just a second ago — mixed with something else, something so tantalizing Castiel’s drawn in like a magnet.

Damn it. He can literally feel the earth shift beneath him, and all he wants to do is tell himself _one more time, just this once._

 

“That was something,” Balthazar says, raising an eyebrow at Dean. “Where’d you learn this trick?”

“When dad was busy with business in town, my baby brother and I used to spend time at the bar next to his worksite. We were bored enough to play pool until we kicked some serious ass with it, and since dad rarely left us as much money as we would’ve liked, we learned to do these little tricks to get more.”

“Oh, not that,” Balthazar says, “although, thanks for that heartwarming story too, I guess. I was talking about your whole paranoid shtick.”

Dean frowns. There’s a moment during which he’s calculating his answer -- Castiel notices the tells because he’s guilty of the very same thing — and he knows that Dean’s gonna tell them a fabrication. He stomps on the little voice in his head that wishes Dean would someday trust him enough to tell him the real story behind the Vonnegut quotes.

It’s not his story to hear.

“Nah, I just knew we needed a distraction and was happy to provide one. That was all improv, man.”

“Can I ask you something?” Alicia says. For a second, it looks like Dean’s about to answer _I thought you already did,_ but he just nods instead. They start walking forward, currently uncertain where they’re headed next. Night has fallen, and the streets are empty.

“Why did you end up hustling them in the first place?”

“I thought they were assholes,” Dean says with a shrug.

“You do realize we’re fine without someone saving us?” Max continues. Castiel focuses on the ground, unwilling to see how uncomfortable this turn in the conversation makes Dean.

“Oh, I never thought I was saving you, or that you need to be saved,” Dean says nonchalantly, “I just thought it’d be a shame if those guys got away with the shit they spoke. I mean. Not to make it about me, but I’ve heard my fair share of slurs and I’m done hearing more, whoever they’re aimed at.”

“Makes sense,” Castiel says slowly. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, but he still pretends he’s interested in the asphalt.

“Anyway, sorry if I came on like that. For me, it was all a personal need to make them feel for just a bit what it’s like to be uncomfortable.”

They’re heading to an intersection between two roads; one of them is a main one and still full of traffic. Not too far to the left is a garden and an old mansion that’s been vacant for a while now, and to the right, there’s the artisan quarters of Grand Falls. Castiel can feel his stomach drop as he realizes just what he wants to do next; get rid of the rest of the people and walk Dean home… with a detour.

But for now, Balthazar’s watching him like a hawk in case Castiel forgets how much is at stake here, and that needs to be dealt with first.

He catches up to Lisa, who’s browsing her phone for some breakfast ideas. The battle’s between Dino’s and McDonald’s, apparently.

“Do you think Balthazar needs breakfast, too?” Castiel asks, vaguely wondering whether this is a low blow. Sure, they’re good friends, but asking Lisa to yank Balthazar out of his hair for a while might be selfish.

“If you think I don’t see the way you look at each other —” Lisa finishes the sentence with an amused huff.

“What, me and Baz?”

She rolls her eyes. “Aren’t you smart. Be honest with me, and I might give you the excuse you need.”

He looks back and sees Dean talking with Alicia. As if feeling Castiel’s eyes on him, he lifts his gaze and looks right back — and electricity sparkles through the air. If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d think Dean’s a witch.

Actually, he doesn’t know better, so that’s a question he needs to ask at some point.

 _At what point?_ He chastises himself shortly before getting back to Lisa.

“I know perfectly well that I’m not allowed a relationship . It’s not even because of Rowena, it’s that I don’t want to break anymore. Pamela told me that I’m not of any use if I relapse, and she’s completely right. I don’t want to make you all go through that again. So what I plan to do is, like a couple of times before, hook up with this guy, to forget that the world exists for a night — god knows I need it after hearing I’m hunted again — and we’ll say goodbye tomorrow, if not to each other completely then at least to any physical or sexual thing there is between us. That’s my plan. Balthazar doesn’t trust me enough, he doesn’t understand that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and ending it before it gets dangerous.”

“You do know he means well, right?”

“Of course. I am grateful for everything he does, but right now, it’s suffocating me.”

Lisa smiles knowingly. “I know. We all do that to each other in this community. We should trust each other’s judgement more.”

“Especially when it comes to things that only have to do with ourselves. I do listen to the warnings all of you give me, but I will only listen to them once. After that, I’ll make my own decisions.”

 


	6. c'est l'oiseau que tu aimais

After Lisa keeps her promise and manages to take the whole group with her, Dean and Castiel fall silent. They’re walking by the high-trafficked road, headlights hitting them in steady intervals until Castiel sees nothing but dark and blur, but it’s comfortable, too. He’s not sure if Dean agrees about the nature of their silence, but for him, it’s safe.

He’s not yet told Dean about his plans. It’s likely Dean wouldn’t even approve of them, but if that were the case, they’d just figure out something else to do with their night together. Castiel tries to keep himself in check with any wishful thinking, but it does seem like Dean is happy that they’re alone.

_Please don’t want to hang out just because I’m a circus talent._

“It smells like burnt gingerbread,” Dean says thoughtfully. Castiel can’t help the snort that escapes him.

“What?”

“In the air. Don’t you smell it?”

Castiel inhales through his nose. Sure enough; there’s a burnt hue stinging through the stink of passing cars.

“It’s not gingerbread,” he hums, “there’s a coffee roastery in the artisan district. Apparently, there’s trace amounts of caffeine in the air of Grand Falls.”

“No wonder I feel lightheaded,” Dean says, and it comes off so nonchalant Castiel almost doesn’t catch the flirtation — but when he looks over at Dean, there’s that sparkle again. For a second, their gaze holds; the traffic behind Dean blurs into nothing and all Castiel can think is _I can’t believe this man quoted Vonnegut in a bar fight._ He enjoys the flush of warmth spreading under his clothes and suddenly, he’s a lot more secure about his plan.

“I loved this place as a child,” Castiel ventures, “Rowena would send me here to pick up fabrics or rhinestones or whatever we needed at the circus, and I was always allowed all day to myself. I went through the stores and chatted with the people in there, and I ate these giant bear claws that made me ride a sugar high all day.”

“Wow,” Dean says. They take a turn to the right, letting the buzz of the traffic fade behind them. The coffee smells both stronger and better here. “You were a social child, then?”

“I was raised to be,” Castiel replies honestly. Dean wouldn’t need to know all the details about just _how_ strict his upbringing was regarding interaction with other people. “But I did like all the free trinkets I was given. Most of the stuff I use today in my performances I was given when I was still a minor.”

“That’s fascinating,” Dean says. “I mean, I’ve only seen you perform on two nights and honestly, no wonder you’re the main act.”

“I don’t,” Castiel huffs an embarrassed laugh, “I don’t think I’m the main act. Circus is about everyone; I don’t want to be the headline.”

Dean nods. “I get it.”

There’s more to the statement, but again, whenever they’re about to breach something too deep for a one-night-stand, Castiel steers away. Besides, they’re just a left turn away from the glassblower’s workshop.

“Now, I don’t know what you were wanting to do tonight,” Castiel says, and Dean gives him a deadpan look that makes him go weak in the knees, “but here’s one of the places I loved to hang out in.”

He knocks on the window for good measure. Dean steps back to try and make sense of the name of the shop.

“It’s kinda closed now, though?”

“You’re right, and that’s very observant of you. Luckily,” Castiel hops onto the table placed outside for sunny day coffee breaks and proceeds to hoist himself up on the roof, “it doesn’t mean we can’t get inside.”

“Oh my god,” Dean whispers, and if his voice didn’t give away how awed he is, his mouth hanging open definitely would.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Castiel hums while crawling towards the skylight, “but I’ve got permission for this.”

He opens the padlock of the reinforced window with the code he’s been given ages ago, and lets himself fall through the opening. Dust, consisting mostly of ashes, instantly gathers in his nose and makes him sneeze. It scares the cats awake as well; one of them meows at Castiel from on top of the oven, and the second gives him an angry glare from the darkness of the reading nook. Smiling at the animals, he heads to the door and opens the locks with two separate keys snatched from the tabletop. When he opens the door, Dean’s right there — he’s standing on the doorstep, looking at Castiel with an intrigue that’s just on this side of desire, and then his eyes fall on Castiel’s lips. The moment stretches out between them: long, rippling, excited and delicious, but then Dean lowers his gaze with a cough.

“That’s really impressive,” he says, “didn’t peg you for the breaking-and-entering type.”

“So you’re already analyzing me?” Castiel says, rolling his eyes in what he hopes is a playful way. “Come in. Hope you’re not allergic to cats.”

“Just a bit, it’s okay.”

Castiel turns around and walks towards the cat on top of the fireplace. He and Lily go way back — it’s been more than once that he’s looked after her. The other cat, Oscar, is young and thus not as close to him.

“Ohh,” Dean says, taking in his surroundings, “now, this makes sense.”

Castiel huffs good-naturedly. “Hope it’s not too presumptuous of me to assume you want to see other glassblower workshops. Might make you feel at home.”

“Not sure I want to feel at home right now,” Dean admits, running his fingertip over some glassware Mr. Turner has left on display. “But this is really cool. See, the way the artist adds metal touches after they’re finished with the glass? Nifty. Not something I’ve ever done.”

“Really?” Castiel asks, leaving Lily purring alone and walking next to Dean. “What do you finish with, then?”

Dean shrugs. “Whatever’s required from the client. Usually, it’s more glass. I can make glass braid and circle it around a vase or a candelabra. Sometimes I add some shine with metallic powder or glitter. Sometimes I do a marble texture. It all depends how much freedom I have in the finished product.”

Castiel hums. He’s not going to lie, hearing Dean talk about his profession is turning him on — just as much as it turned him on to hear Dean being good with his hands to begin with. He doesn’t know what it is about someone being able to create something beautiful out of nothing, but just thinking about Dean focusing on scalding glass makes his breath catch a little. So, in retrospect, he shouldn’t be held responsible for things that exit his mouth.

“Blow me, Dean,” he sighs, and while they’re both perfectly aware it was not an accident, they’re both pretending it is, “glass. Blow me something. Uh, if you want to.”

 

 *

 

Castiel spends time with the cats while Dean sets up shop. While waiting for what he calls (and what _must_ be the incorrect name for it) a glory hole to heat up, he scavenges through the cupboards and drawers like he owns the place — so much for any ethical issues Castiel feared Dean would harbor about touching another man’s equipment. They make idle chatter while all of this is happening, mostly talking about what kind of comfort food they prefer, and Castiel realizes his face hurts from smiling this much.

It’s intoxicating, yet he’s never felt more sober. He feels the effortless nature in which their conversation flows, and how everything else, everything troubling, just melts into background noise while he watches Dean work.

And he’s not even started yet. The second Dean gives him a wink, because he seems to be cheesy like that and Castiel loves it, and picks up the blow pipe from the ground, Castiel’s breath is stolen from his lungs. For a moment, silence falls and Dean holds the pipe in the furnace before dipping it into molten glass.

“What are we making?” he asks. Because Castiel’s not sure if the question is pointed at him, he doesn’t reply. When he walks up to the marver to start working on the blob of glass, their eyes meet for a second. “How familiar are you with glassblowing?”

“I’ve been here enough to know what things are called. I’ve never heard that thing being called a glory hole, though.”

“Then the artist working here just wanted to save your innocent soul by sparing you the info. Trust me, I’ve been poking my stick in enough glory holes to know what I’m talking about here.”

He turns around to heat the glass up again, this time in the glory hole, and Castiel lets Lily go from his lap while watching Dean’s shirt clinging to his back with sweat. It’s definitely getting hot, alright.

“I don’t know,” Castiel sighs, “you might be pulling my chain.”

Dean hums, suddenly serious, before walking over to the table where he set up some fine sand. He rolls the blob over a couple of times before returning it to the marver. After a couple of firm rolls, he places his lips to the other end of the pipe and gives it a gentle blow.

Castiel leans against the table he’s sitting at, suddenly happy he doesn’t need to get up right now. This is ridiculous.

Flames dance on Dean’s face as he keeps working, completely concentrating on molding the glass for a while. His bare forearms flex more the more weight he gets on the pipe, and when he’s satisfied with the roundness and color of his blob, starts pulling at it with a pair of jacks. Castiel still has no idea what Dean’s making, but it hardly matters now — just seeing this is all he needs and so much more.

Dean senses it too. He gives Castiel heated glances across the table, and more than once, almost asks something only to retreat with a gentle huff or a shake of his head. If Castiel’s head wasn’t so blissfully empty, he’d probably worry about the intensity of it all, or how he’s not worrying about the immediate future of the circus, or how he’s not setting ground rules with Dean already.

But there’s time for that later — now he just wants to enjoy it.

 

Eventually, Dean’s satisfied. He gently puts the finished product into the final oven to cool for a while, and before letting Castiel step closer and see it, they open the door to let clean night air in. It has started to rain again, and Oscar gives a loud meow of protest before slinking off into the night. Rufus doesn’t fret over the cats running around the artisan district; however, Castiel would personally prefer to keep them indoors since the highway is not too far off. Then again, he’s never seen them around those parts.

“I’m pretty sure I’m steaming,” Dean says, lifting his gaze up to the overcast sky. “Yeah. I am.”

Castiel tilts his head. The heat of Dean’s skin is evaporating into the air, giving him a glow more than a smoke cloud.

“Thank you for doing this. I didn’t know how you’d take an impromptu glassblowing night class.”

“I enjoy my job, so why not? Besides, I had inspiration,” he says lightly, giving Castiel one more wink, “and thank you for letting me see how other people do it. There’s not that many glassblowers where I’m from.”

The question is teetering at the end of Castiel’s tongue, but he sucks it back. No.

“You’re welcome, and I’m glad I was an inspiration. Although…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, because it’s about to turn pathetic, something along the lines of _although I’d much prefer if someone, for once, was inspired by me and not who I perform as._

Dean doesn’t ask.

After a quiet minute in the chilly air, they return inside. Dean returns to give his piece a look, and then gestures for Castiel to come over.

“It’s a bit hard to see in this light, and I really do hope your glassblower here is alright with me using their items. I need to leave this to cool off for at least forty-eight hours, and if they don’t want to leave it, well, that’s a shame. I think this is one of my better works.”

Castiel steps forward and gives Dean one more look before ducking his head and taking in what’s been created. The first thing he sees are wings — at first, he thinks they’re bird wings because it lines up with his L’oiseau act, but upon further inspection, the shape and form of them is wrong.

Angel wings.

They wrap around a sturdy-looking, incoherent figure that looks small in comparison; it’s reaching up towards the high points of the wings as if trying to form a protective ball out of them. In the middle of the somehow both translucent and iridescent galaxy-patterned glass, inside the figure’s chest, is a crimson red ball — a heart. Castiel squints to see it better because he’s sure it’s beating; the delicate blue veins expanding and narrowing. He’s imagining it. His gaze slides down and for a second, the sharp in-turn of the waist throws him. Some of the blue veins are traveling through the narrow part before pooling low where the figure is standing on a half-globe. It’s hourglass symbolism; a perfect image of how Castiel is stuck in a quantum-loop of the circus, and of his own life where he’s constantly denied things, and for a moment he’s scared Dean sees right through him like a psychic would.

Belatedly, he realizes Dean never said this is a sculpture about him — only that he was inspired by him. He straightens up again, and suddenly, their faces are mere inches apart. He gives Dean’s slightly parted lips a greedy glance before their eyes meet again.

“So,” Dean says, the air heavy with promise and something like desire, but deeper, “where to next, Ceri?”

 

*

 

They leave Rufus a note that states the origin of Dean’s sculpture, along with needless information about Oscar being outside now. Castiel locks the doors from the inside before climbing up and exiting through the latch — this elicits an impressed whistle out of Dean.

Then, they start walking.

“All this looks so neat,” Dean says as they pass a traditional truffle store, “I’m happy to see people still make things out of love like this.”

“I was too,” Castiel admits. The word _Ceri_ still echoes in his mind and there’s nothing he wants as much as share his real name right now. There’s a time and a place for that, though — and he not-so-secretly hopes it’s when he’s hovering over Dean, drowning in long, indulgent kisses, and sinking deeper and deeper into his willing body.

He clears his throat to tell his brain it’s too early to indulge in fantasies; he needs to sort out the conditions first. It makes him feel selfish, knowing that he has to tell Dean that _yes, we can fuck and I’d like that to happen, but first you’ve got to promise me this is for one night only and when we’re done, we’re done._ He knows it’s the only way this could ever work.

“Hard thinker, huh?” Dean says, and Castiel feels his gaze on him.

“For now. Uh, is it too presumptuous of me to ask you where you live?”

“No,” he says with a secretive grin, “but you gotta know, me living where I do doesn’t have anything to do with how wealthy I am.”

“I… Wouldn’t have assumed. Wait, did you assume that about me?”

“Have I seen where you live?”

Castiel shakes his head. They’re heading back towards the main road. “No. You’ve seen the treehouse, but that’s mostly for entertaining.”

“Right. So, that does tip the scale a little — not all of us have places just for entertaining people, you know? But I’m not the type of guy who assumes anything. Back home, I live in a…” He swallows whatever he was going to say, and rearranges his words. “In a pretty similar place than I do here, actually. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m rich or anything.”

Before Castiel can form a sentence from the thoughts scrambled in his mind, Dean guides them across the intersection where they turned right earlier; and then, they’re approaching the mansion with worrisome determination. As they pass the garden of the front yard, lights come on one by one, illuminating statues and floral arches that must look stunning during summer. It’s a bit too close to his childhood home for Castiel’s liking, but he’s still amazed by the beauty of it all — still, nothing is more beautiful than Dean, as he turns around by the gate and gives Castiel one of his wider smiles that reveals his unfairly beautiful teeth and brings a sparkle in his eyes.

“Alright, this is me,” he says, and judging by the way he brings his hand to the back of his neck and lowers his gaze, he’s not faking the coyness in his tone.

“You live in the Gardenside Mansion?”

“For now, yeah.”

He fetches the key from his pocket and unlocks a modest door next to the ornamental gate.

“I have to ask. Are you squatting?”

Dean looks up at Castiel and lets out a short, undoubtedly involuntary laugh. “No! What? No. It belongs to my uncle. He’s rich as fuck. Also, why would I have the key if I was squatting?”

“You don’t owe me details,” Castiel says, and he hopes Dean gets that the underlying message here is _and neither do I._

 

As they make their way through the silent rooms, Castiel takes in the decor. He can’t help but notice that the rooms they pass have been stripped of everything that could be considered personal; instead, it’s a House & Home feature come to life. Paintings, books, pictures are all missing, as are any actual signs of life — dirty dishes, ash in the tray, half-empty whiskey bottles — and every pillow, blanket, candle, and dining table chair is impeccably placed. It rouses a need to destroy in Castiel, one he knows is remnant of his childhood.

Before it can get uncomfortable, though, they step through one more double-door that opens to a swimming pool. Some of Castiel’s sudden distress must be visible on his face, because when Dean turns back to face him, his smile fades and he frowns.

“Everything alright there?”

“Yes,” Castiel says all-too-fast, “I was just… Inside my mind for a while there.”

Dean purses his lips for a second before reaching out and placing his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. The touch radiates heat all around Castiel’s torso and he needs to focus to keep himself from visibly leaning into it.

“You’ve done wonders with me tonight,” Dean says, his voice a touch lower than before, “I haven’t been thinking about anything I didn’t want to. I wish I could return the favor.”

“You’re already doing it,” Castiel reassures him.

“I sure hope so,” Dean laughs and takes a step back while sliding his hand along Castiel’s arm. They left their outer layer in the hallway, but even though Castiel’s still wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the touch feels good. Solid, and real. “But just in case you need more, come on.”

Castiel lets himself be tugged forward until they’re on the edge of the pool. Dean smiles at him again, a genuine thing before it turns into something mischievous. He leans closer, and for a brief, shining moment Castiel thinks he’s actually going to get kissed right here, but before his senses fully tune into it, he’s already being pushed into the water.

It feels like a deep inhale after a long time spent in smoke. Cool water spreads throughout Castiel’s skin, rejuvenating, caressing, infinite. He lets himself unfold completely underwater, spread his hands and feet wide and just floats there until his lungs hurt.

Dean gives him an apologetic smile as he resurfaces. Castiel manages a frown.

“I’d be so pissed at you if this didn’t feel like waking up after a long dream.”

“Is that so?” Dean asks, eyeing the water. In a swift move, he rids himself of his shirt — Castiel needs to look away because it’s too much to take in at once — lifts his arms and jumps in with a headfirst jump that’s surprisingly graceful, considering his lack of an acrobatic background.

Then again, it’s a thing Castiel just assumes.

Dean slides underwater until he’s at the shallow end of the pool. Castiel slowly starts swimming towards him, diving as soon as their eyes meet to avoid — whatever the swimming equivalent of tripping is. When they’re face to face, all pretense of polite distance is stripped away; Dean shamelessly looks down at Castiel’s lips, licks his own, and exhales dramatically. Castiel doesn’t notice he’s smiling until his cheeks start to hurt again. He shakes his head and drags his palm across his face.

Dean tilts his head, considering. They’re teetering at the edge of the start of their night together… As something else than friends. It’s heady. Castiel bites the inside of his lip and lifts his brow, challenging Dean to see this through. And heaven forbid, he does; he takes a step back so he’s against the end wall of the pool, lifts his arms up so he’s holding onto the railing above him, and tilts his head up in a blatant invitation.

He’s so hot, and he so knows it, and it makes him absolutely irresistible. Castiel floats closer until they’re a couple of inches apart, and since he can reach the floor here, he uses the leverage to gently place both of his hands on the wall on either side of Dean. His green eyes are twinkling with a mixture of earlier mischief and current anticipation, and he drops his gaze to Castiel’s lips again.

That’s as much invitation as he’s ever gotten from any person in his life; however, he prefers to be thorough.

“Dean,” he says, the word surprisingly reverent in his mouth.

“Ceri?”

“Am I reading this right?”

Dean lifts his brows and hums. “I don’t know. Wanna make out?”

Castiel huffs. “Yes, please.”

Instead of instantly capturing those beautiful, unquestionably delicious lips with his own, Castiel lets himself indulge in the feeling of proximity. He bends his elbows and hovers close to Dean; breathes in his magnificent scent of fire and chlorine water, drops to brush the tip of his nose against Dean’s jawline.

They drag the moment on for a second longer, but when Castiel leans forward and sees Dean swallow, his patience not only runs thin, it runs desert-dry. He lets their noses touch, and he feels Dean’s breath catch. Shit. Neither of them is doing well in the whole casual department.

The first touch of their lips is gentle, wetter than usual because of their current location, and Castiel has to exhale sharply to force his abdomen back into cooperation; everything in his core is falling like he’s in the giant lyra swing of the circus for the first time. Dean groans at the lightness of the touch, demanding more by capturing Castiel’s lips again and licking his lower lip greedily. While Castiel tries to catch up with the intensity of it, _damn this person’s kisses feel like getting defibrillated_ , Dean’s arms wrap around him, grasping at his shirt that’s somehow still on him and clinging to his skin rather uncomfortably. When Dean’s palms circle to his chest, he decides they’re way overdue to get undressed and so, to stop Dean’s ministrations, he gently wraps his fingers around Dean’s wrists.

Dean gasps into his mouth — hard enough for Castiel to pull back to see what’s going on in his mind. Their gazes meet and zoom in to a new reality; a much more serious, excited, and magnificent one. Dean’s breath is catching in his throat, his pupils are dilated beyond what Castiel would expect from a good thirty seconds of making out… And when Dean turns his wrists around in Castiel’s grip and shivers, the message couldn’t be clearer.

Oh… Oh, _shit_.

Experimentally, Castiel tightens his grip. Dean presses his eyes shut, and his lips part with another gorgeous sigh.

_Marvelous. Absolutely stunning._

Castiel claims Dean’s lips for another heady kiss, filing the information he just accidentally stumbled across for later. For now, he lets go of Dean’s wrists after a short but reassuring kneading with his thumbs, and finishes what he started by taking his shirt off. It’s not the first time Dean sees him without one, but it’s the first time he can touch with permission; a perk he instantly takes advantage of. Castiel shivers at the feeling of Dean’s fingertips across his chest, up his shoulders and on his back, and he places his hand on the side of Dean’s head to deepen the kiss again. This time, it’s him who pushes his tongue against Dean’s, and the moan he elicits from him is filthy and he has to step back to reevaluate the situation.

“Hey,” he tells Dean, letting their foreheads touch. “Should we get out of the water?”

Dean nods, licking his lower lip and closing his eyes for a second. Shit, he’s going to be the death of Castiel.

 

*

 

Making it onto any soft surface turns out to be harder than Castiel would’ve thought. They make it to the dressing room and are distracted by each other again; Dean pushes Castiel against the door and kisses his lips, his neck and sinks his teeth on the skin above his collarbone. Castiel squirms under the touch, but only because he’s overwhelmed about the euphoria Dean’s touch causes. It feels serious.

When Dean’s hands find the waistline of his pants, though, he reluctantly pulls away. There’s things to say before they proceed.

“Dean,” he manages, and only gets a hum for an answer. Castiel presses his eyes shut as Dean’s tongue darts out and licks a narrow stripe across his pulse point. “Dean, listen.”

He presses his palms flat against Dean’s bare chest and can’t help curling his fingers a little; Dean’s way too tempting.

“I’m listening,” Dean says with a wry smile. There’s a fleck of worry in his eyes, and Castiel wants nothing more than to kiss it away.

“We need to talk over a couple of things before, uh, we take this any further.”

Dean nods. “Probably a good idea. Wanna shower with me?”

Castiel snorts. “It’s like you hear what I’m saying and acknowledge it only to dismiss it during the next sentence.”

“Not my intention,” Dean says gently. “Right. Talk first, shower after? I do have double showers, though, so we could do both at the same time.”

“Only if we keep our backs to each other. I am going to get distracted by your body like nobody’s business.”

“Fair,” Dean says with another grin. “Come along.”

The showers are right through the next door, and when Castiel’s sure Dean’s turned away, he strips off the remnants of his clothes while vaguely thinking about the whereabouts of his shirt; it’s probably in the swimming pool, floating helplessly. When Dean turns on his shower, Castiel follows, and for a while they’re just warming up under the stream.

“So, is there anything I should know about?” Dean asks. “Old lovers, current lovers, diseases that demand extra care, assumed body parts that need to be de-assumed?”

Castiel lets out an elated laugh. “No. Luckily I’m free from both diseases and jilted ex-lovers. I’m also cisgender if that’s what you’re circling around.”

Dean hums. “I’m baffled, then.”

“I just wanted you to know that while I’m one hundred per cent on board on what we’re getting involved in tonight, I’m afraid I can’t offer you more.”

Dean falls silent for what’s probably only a couple of seconds, but what feels like an eternity of regret and guilt for Castiel.

“So, you’re only looking for a one-night-stand?”

“Yes. I… If you like to hang out with us, by all means, let’s hang out more. I just can’t give you a steady relationship that’s either a romantic or a friends-with-benefits one. I want to make that clear right now, so we’ll go into this on the same page. Of course, I won’t hold it against you if you decide this is not what you had in mind.”

“No,” Dean says, his voice slow, calculating, and just a little bit strained, “no, I mean, I think that’s probably for the best. I don’t know how long I’m gonna be around here, anyway, so any promises at this point would just make things hard.”

Castiel nods to himself. He drags his hands through his soaking hair and relishes in the feeling of warm water before closing the tap.

“That’s all I wanted to say.Do you have anything you’d like to share?”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a sudden huff of laughter. “I never in a thousand years thought we’d be finishing tonight together. I mean. I had hope, and I might have sounded like I’m sure of myself, but.”

Castiel smiles. “Thank you for clarifying, Casanova.”

“Anytime. Hey, since your clothes are wet, should we just… I mean. We’re gonna end up naked anyway, right?”

“Yes, we are. Is your suggestion to turn around and get the whole naked reveal out of the way at this point?”

Dean’s laugh is contagious. “Well, I _was_ hoping you’d fuck me. Should we do this?”

“On your mark, good sir.” Castiel bites his lower lip in amusement, waiting for Dean to come around.

Eventually, they do it. A straight out gasp escapes Castiel’s lips when he sees Dean now. He’s wet from the shower, his darkened hair is clinging to his forehead, and he’s shamelessly giving Castiel’s body a once-over. He likes what he sees, that much is obvious — despite the considerably bright lights of the bathroom, his pupils are dilated. Honestly, though, Castiel’s probably a mirror image right about now; there’s nothing about Dean that isn’t gorgeous. Obviously, it’s the black tattoo on his chest that first catches Castiel’s attention, but it doesn’t take him long to let his eyes roam all over the man in front of him. From his strong arms, courtesy of glassblowing for years and years, to his beautifully soft-looking stomach, and all the way down to his lean slightly bowing legs, Dean is truly a sight. Castiel’s not immune to Dean’s half-erect cock, either — he can’t help but think how it would feel in his hands, in his mouth, or rubbing against his own.

“Shit,” Dean says, “please tell me you enjoy getting your dick sucked, because goddamnit I swear if I can’t get that thing in my mouth this second I might actually set myself on fire.”

Castiel huffs. “Please don’t casually mention self-harm.”

“Sorry, I just. Okay. Can we go already? I’d like you splayed on my bed like, yesterday.”

“There’s something I want you to know,” Castiel says, biting his lip once more, this time accentuating the gesture with a rise of his eyebrows.

“What now? You want to talk me to death?”

Dean’s frustration is shallow; there’s a deeper desire, a need to make them both feel good, lying under the surface. It reassures Castiel to keep talking.

“My real name is Castiel.”

 

 *

“Castiel,” Dean repeats, his fingertips sinking into the skin on Castiel’s back when Castiel grazes his teeth over his left nipple, “I like your name.”

“Thank you,” he mutters. “I like your body.”

“Dork.” Dean blows a legit raspberry that’s only a bit dampened by his stuttering breath.

Castiel hums and runs his tongue across Dean’s chest until he reaches the other nipple. Giving it a quick flick, he looks up again. “Do you have condoms?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand, obviously trying to comprehend what was asked of him. “Uh, yes. Lube, not that much. Wasn’t exactly… Thinking straight.”

“Or you were thinking exactly _straight_ ,” Castiel says, rising to his knees. “Which way to the kitchen?”

“If you plan on using ketchup as lube like some low-grade harlequin writer, I swear to god —”

Castiel rolls his eyes, not completely unable to keep from laughing. “No, I was about to check whether you have coconut oil. Although, that will become a problem with latex.”

Dean lifts himself up on his elbows and gives Castiel a glance with a quirk of his brow. “Which is why it’s good that I’m deathly allergic to latex and if there’s two things you’ll never see me with, it’s latex condoms and helium balloons.”

“We’re a match made in one-night-stand heaven,” Castiel smiles and sinks down to give Dean a lingering kiss. Dean happily obliges until their erections half-accidentally brush and it’s too much for both of them.

“Shit, go already or we’re going to be done too soon. Kitchen’s to the left.”

“I expect you to be wearing a condom when I get back. Other than that, just relax — that is, unless you want to google whether coconut oil is good to use as lube. Spoiler, though, I’ve done my research.”

Dean huffs a laugh and Castiel watches him as he gets upright and starts rummaging through his drawer. Not quite able to believe this is actually happening, Castiel shakes his head and leaves.

The time it takes for him to find the kitchen and scavenge the cabinets must only take a couple of minutes, but it feels like hours. He's painfully hard, his breath is catching in his throat,his heart is beating against his ribs and he’s so damn ready for this to happen. The coconut oil is stored in the fridge and Castiel rolls his eyes at the inconvenience of it, but then he’s distracted about how Dean could react to temperature changes.

Shit, he needs to be back already.

 

Dean’s lying on his back, stretched out, completely relaxed save for his condom-wrapped erection. When Castiel stops at the foot of the bed, Dean reaches out his hand and lets out a sigh that’s almost a whine. It pleases Castiel to realize they both need this just as much.

Castiel kneels on the bed, placing his palms on each side of Dean’s waist. He dips down for a long, indulgent kiss, which elicits a low rumble from Dean. This time, Castiel brushes their cocks together with purpose, once, twice, once more, before traveling down and without much warning, placing a kiss on top of Dean’s cock.

“May I blow you?”

Dean shivers. “Please.”

Castiel places another kiss, this one on the base, and runs his tongue up until he can take the glans in his mouth. Dean exhales sharply, involuntarily bucking his hips, and Castiel places both his hands on Dean’s hips to keep him from moving. If the sound of Dean’s breathing can be trusted, the gentle restraining is something he really enjoys… Not that it was unclear before, anyway.

Working his tongue firmly against the underside of Dean’s shaft, Castiel sucks Dean in as deep as his mouth allows, and relaxing his throat, even deeper. He swallows and Dean hisses, sinking his fingers in Castiel’s hair. He enjoys the sharp pull he gets, and rewards Dean with a couple of deep, firm sucks. He feels Dean’s thighs trembling against his arms; he’s really using all his willpower to keep from moving.

“Please,” Dean says eventually, and Castiel lets him fall free from his mouth.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Uh, shit,” he says, gripping the sheets with his fingers now, “touch me. Fuck me.”

“I’d be happy to,” Castiel says with an easy grin. He takes a moment to open the coconut oil jar, and a moment longer to get some of the contents on his hand. Still solid and cool, he places a bit on Dean’s inner thigh. Dean yelps and groans, and honestly, that’s mixed enough messages for him to need a verbal confirmation. “Is this alright, or would you prefer me to warm it up?”

“I might — uh,” Dean needs to rearrange his thoughts as Castiel spreads the quickly-melting oil closer to his groin, “I might have a thing for temperatures.”

“Perfect,” Castiel hums, “so perfect for me, Dean.”

The praise comes automatically, and so does Dean’s reaction; moaning loudly, he bucks his hips again so that his cock brushes against Castiel’s arm. Castiel sucks the head of Dean’s cock back in his mouth and rolls his tongue in a way he himself finds pleasurable. Keeping his goal in mind, though, he takes more oil in his fingers and then brings them to Dean’s rim. Dean whimpers at the cold, and Castiel keeps his mouth on that delicious cock of his while massaging the outside of his hole gently. At this moment, he wishes for nothing more than to feel and taste Dean without a condom, but they’ve got to play it safe for now and —

For _now_?

As Castiel pushes his finger in, slowly and carefully, Dean lifts his hips again and the head of his cock hits Castiel’s soft palate deliciously, and _for now_ sounds exactly right. An overwhelming sense of urgency mixed with a deeper level of desire fills Castiel — he knows it’s because he can’t afford feeling possessive over another living person — but he also knows that he can’t let this be the last time he’s this intimate with Dean. He owes it to everyone he’s friends with that he steer clear from any relationship, romantic or otherwise, and yet —

And yet, he can feel his heart and lungs collapsing inside his chest at the thought of not getting to kiss Dean after tonight.

As if his thoughts were audible, Dean puts his fingers in Castiel’s hair again, this time to pull him off his cock; soft lips meet his own in a kiss that’s surprisingly chaste considering Castiel’s finger is still in Dean’s ass.

“Hello again, hard thinker,” Dean whispers as they part. “Something I can help you with?”

“We can talk about it later,” Castiel says gently. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you’re incapable of holding my attention.”

“You can make it up to me starting right now,” Dean says, shifting his hips so Castiel’s finger slips deeper. They both groan at the feeling.

“Got you,” Castiel says and with another kiss, he sinks his finger in as deep as it goes. Dean wraps his hand around Castiel’s arm, but not to keep him from continuing, quite the opposite: he encourages him to move faster, to go deeper, to open him up _right now_. Castiel is so happy to oblige his hips move of their own volition, searching for something to grind against.

In what feels like both seconds and beautiful, beautiful hours, Castiel’s three fingers inside Dean’s ass, and they’re both rendered to incoherent messes of sloppy kisses and heaving breaths. Dean twists a little to fetch a condom from the bedside table and reluctantly, Castiel removes his fingers — Dean frowns at the loss, all the more eager to unwrap the condom and roll it on Castiel. While at it, Dean gives his shaft a couple of firm strokes, greedily swallowing the moans from his lips.

“Dean,” Castiel says, “you’re going to make me come.”

“That’s the general idea,” Dean hums, but flops back onto his back. Biting his lip, Castiel manages to lather some oil on his cock without pushing himself over the edge. Then he climbs on top of Dean, kisses him soft but Dean’s having none of it, licking into his mouth with a desperation that only seems to keep building the longer it takes Castiel to fuck him into oblivion. Dean’s legs wrap around Castiel’s waist and then he’s begging; literally, honest-to-god begging for Castiel to fuck him already, a litany of _pleases_ and _oh gods_ escaping his mouth in a constant flow.

Even though it takes most of Castiel’s remaining self-control and sanity, he manages to go slowly. When the tip of his cock breaches Dean’s rim, they both moan in pleasure that’s getting hazier by the minute, and although Dean instantly tries to lift his hips to pull Castiel deeper, Castiel manages to adjust to the movement and keep them from progressing too fast. Dean hisses at him, but is soothed with a deep, exploratory kiss.

When Castiel bottoms out, Dean lets his lips go. For a moment, they stare at each other, completely washed away by the feeling.

“For future reference,” Dean says, his voice low as if he’s sharing a secret, “while I really like that you’re being careful, sometimes I am gonna ask you to just pull me by the hair and go to town.”

Castiel frowns. The implication is clear and mirrors his thoughts exactly, and while he’s a bit worried this man can actually read minds, he silences them both with a deep kiss before they can say anything they don’t — _can’t_ — mean. Simultaneously, he starts building a deep, satisfying pace, keeping himself flush against Dean so his cock can get some friction between their bodies. Dean’s fingers run along his spine, gently enough to elicit shivers, and they never really stop kissing. Even after he speeds up, their breaths become erratic and Dean’s fingers start digging into his flesh, their lips and tongues stay connected, and it’s intimate in a way Castiel’s not too familiar with.

Unfortunately, it only makes him that much more desperate for a continuous thing.

When Dean is close to coming, he needs his mouth to breathe, and Castiel uses the opportunity to kiss and bite his neck. He undoubtedly leaves marks in his wake, but since Dean only groans louder, his muscles clenching around Castiel, he doesn’t go gentle on him. Dean’s so hot around his cock, so tight and stunning, and his hands are everywhere across Castiel's back and ass, and then he's coming with a deep, guttural, long moan that shakes Castiel to the core. He fucks him through it, slowing down his pace until he's back to that deep thrust they started with.

“Shit,” Dean mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit, that's fucking amazing.”

Before Castiel can reply, Dean pulls him in for a kiss. While his tongue expertly elicits some moans from Castiel, he wiggles himself upwards until Castiel’s still-painstakingly-hard cock falls out from his ass. In a split second, Dean's disposed of his own condom and flipped them around, straddled on top of Castiel and giving him the most lascivious smile he's ever seen in his life.

“Still want your cock in my mouth. Mind if I swap the condom for a new one and let you fuck my face?”

Castiel huffs. “Not going to argue that one.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dean says, lifting his brows and gauging Castiel’s reaction to his choice of words. Castiel lifts his jaw defiantly, unwilling to give anything away, but for Dean that’s telling enough. Secretly, Castiel is pleased to realize Dean’s smart enough to have noticed he paid attention to Dean’s reactions, and in the future, that’s going to be —

Castiel lets out a sigh of frustration that turns into one of pleasure the second Dean’s lips close around the tip of his cock. He’s unaware of the moment the condom switch happened ( _probably while you were daydreaming about a future with Dean, you ass_ ), but it’s not like he’s going to complain; Dean licks and sucks at his length, measuring him up and familiarizing the slight curve, before he relaxes his mouth and grabs one of Castiel’s hands to place it in his hair. They lock eyes and Dean tilts his head an inch, an obvious gesture of _please give me what I asked for._

Castiel lifts his hips experimentally, and Dean moans around his cock, encouraging him on. Closing his eyes, Castiel lets himself fall into the feeling; Dean’s arms now settling on his thighs, his lips gently closed, his tongue and mouth so impossibly hot it makes Castiel want to both come immediately and cherish this forever. He pushes his way in, savoring another hum he gets from Dean, and pulls almost all the way out to torture himself with a look at the sight of Dean with his lips swollen from kissing, his eyes hooded, and Castiel’s glans brushing the edge of his mouth.

Shit, he’s not going to come out of this one alive.

He closes his eyes again, letting himself fall into a rhythm of fucking Dean’s eager mouth fast enough to instantly bring his release closer; warmth spreads from his abdomen all the way to his toes, and he’s riding the current as long as he’s possibly able. Dean takes it all, all of his thrusts and moans and hair-pulling with soft hums and gasps of satisfaction, and that’s ultimately what undoes Castiel — how much it pleases Dean to do this. He comes hard, sounding ragged and odd to his own ears but keeping on thrusting, each wave louder and harder than the last, and Dean’s sucking him through it with a glint in his eye, because somehow Castiel’s staring at him again. When Dean finally lets go and disposes the condom, Castiel’s not sure if he just succeeded in a double orgasm — or if his single one lasted pretty much forever.

 

 


	7. je lui dirai que tu l'attendais

Dean’s head is spinning.

It’s hours since Ceri — _Castiel_ — left, and he still feels like he’s floating. He walks through rooms of the mansion with a secretive smile on his face, running his hands over surfaces to feel the world still existing around him.

It’s magnificent.

He eats late breakfast on the glass-covered patio, enjoying the steady thrum of spring rain above him. At times, he notices he’s absent-mindedly placed his fingers on top of one of the bruises Castiel sucked on his neck, and he needs to almost physically force himself to focus on the situation now instead of the situation last night.

Because now, he knows nothing.

Castiel left after they got a couple hours of sleep, which was a pity; Dean loved waking up in someone’s arms, and if he had been braver, he would’ve initiated a morning rerun. Just thinking about how it felt to be cared for like that — enveloped in the safety of someone’s arms, slowly being undone and fucked blissfully — made Dean half-hard and pretty much drooling. And if it had just been good sex, he would’ve left it at that.

If only.

The thing was, there’d been something else. There was this _connection_ between them, and no matter how much Dean tried to disregard it and tell himself it was just the tension that had built up between them during the few days they’d know each other… It didn’t explain all of it.

It didn’t explain the feeling that overwhelmed him when Castiel asked him to blow glass, or how he felt when he saw Castiel’s reaction to the finished piece.

It didn’t explain how easy it had been to get closer to Cas, how light his whole body felt when they were able to banter during lube conversations, and how that never took any of the desire away.

It didn’t explain both of them referring to a future.

Maybe that was what finally brought Dean to his decision to catch Castiel when he was half out the door and give him his number. Castiel had looked almost relieved at first, but schooled his expression into a nonchalant one; a perfect mirror of what Dean felt playing on his face. Not wanting to seem too eager about it. Totally still being eager about it.

Now all Dean needs to do is wait, but that’s the part that feels impossible to have the patience for, so instead he just tries to not replay last night in his head.

Besides, there’s other things he needs to pay attention to; how he’s completely failed to locate the prince of Sanan yet; how he doesn’t even know where to head next; he hasn’t called Sam since yesterday, and their argument feels like ages ago now; he should probably also inform the King that he’s not been very successful yet.

 _No time like the present,_ he tells himself, and suddenly he’s a lot less eager about the upcoming day.

 

Sam’s easy. After all, they’ve been through stuff together.

The second Dean hears his voice, he’s glad he started with his brother.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Sammy,” he says, smiling despite the pang of sadness that passes through him when he realizes Sam is genuinely surprised to hear from him. “Look, I’m sorry about last night.”

“It’s okay, man — what, is something wrong?”

“I can’t apologize if something’s not wrong?”

“No, of course you can,” Sam says quickly. The sound of a book slapping shut comes through the line. “It’s just not like you. You forgave me last night for these… revolutionary ideas I was harboring, and now you think you’re the one who needs to apologize?”

Dean shrugs, and although Sam can’t see it, he likely knows his brother well enough to know the gesture is happening anyway. “It’s not up to me to decide what you want to do with your life. Pursuing your dreams is not something you need to apologize for.”

Sam huffs. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you meet a girl last night?”

The question comes seemingly out of nowhere, so Dean just stands there in the kitchen, hand halfway to his hair to run his fingers through it, frowning. “What?”

A sigh on the phone. “Look. You’re… When you used to hook up back here, you’d have this serenity about you afterwards. I once confronted you about your good mood and you said it’s because you got laid.”

Dean blushes vigorously at the reminder of a full set of lips against his clavicle.

“And even though I know you’re tough. You’re tough as fuck, the strongest person I know, don’t get me wrong — sometimes, you need affection. There’s nothing wrong with that. After you get affection, after you get the attention you secretly crave, you’re so much calmer, it’s like your head’s screwed on straight again.”

“So you saying I need other people to, what, function?” The defensiveness is apparent in Dean’s voice, and that does little to diminish the feeling of being _so called out right now._

“No, I’m saying that’s what you do to relax. I go hiking to relax. Sometimes, I swap subjects to relax. Sometimes I spend all day in the library just to play mobile games to relax. Hell, sometimes I flirt with people with no intention of taking it further, you know? We do what we feel eases the tension, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your relaxation is other people. It’s a noble way to relax, if you ask me.”

“Yes. Nothing says noble like one-night-stands.”

A short silence, during which Dean thinks he actually convinced Sam of — of what, he doesn’t know. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what came out of Sam’s mouth next.

“Dean, just because dad thought casual sex was a sign of weakness doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Dean frowns. “What are you on about? Dad never implied —”

“No? He didn’t tell you to bring the game home each time he heard you were with a girl? He didn’t chastise you for being out late, saying I hope you at least were decent because people will talk?”

There’s no arguments to be made. Dean remembers the feeling of eyes on the back of his head each time a girl came to meet Dean at his house. He remembers how both he and whoever he hooked up with didn’t want it to mean anything, but then having to make excuses for why the girl was never officially introduced or brought to the dinner table.

He realizes the silence has stretched on too long already. There’s only one thing he can really say.

“It was a guy.”

Sam sighs in a way that sounds a lot like relief.

“Oh, thank god. I was hoping you’d use the opportunity of being out of here.”

Dean laughs dryly. “You don’t mind me spreading the word of our good kingdom with a dick up my —”

“Nah! I don’t mind, just don’t tell me the details. I don’t think that’s something I ever need to know, let alone picture. But no, I don’t mind. Besides, weren’t you supposed to be anonymous?”

“Yes. I’m being careful. It’s just shitty I don’t have anything to report yet.”

“Well, it hasn’t been long. It isn’t like the noose is already tightening around my neck.”

“It is, or it’s not? Can’t tell sarcasm through phone.”

“No, it’s not. All is good and I’ve only been asked once about you.”

Dean nods to himself. “That’s good. Keep me posted if that changes.”

“Will do, Dean. Uh, and unless you didn’t gather it earlier, it’s not like I’m gonna quit with the school plan. I’m gonna go. I just don’t think it’s all I’ll ever want.”

“Of course. I get it.”

“Also, this might be a time for you to reflect on your own choices and what you want out of your own life.”

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’ve shaken me enough for one day. Just… let me do my thing here, find the prince, and call it a day so I can get back to glassblowing .”

Sam scoffs and sighs. “Okay. We’ll talk about your aspirations later, jerk.”

“Right, bitch, we will. A lot later.”

They talk a bit longer about their plans for the week and the upsides of Dean having to be the one who had to leave the country, but after Dean notices he’s hungry again, they end the call in good spirits.

 

*

 

Of course, Dean’s good mood doesn’t last.

He makes it through the afternoon by eating, swimming, and thinking about what Sam said about relaxing, but when evening comes, he realizes he’s getting more and more bitter. It’s not even Cas he’s bitter at, even though he would’ve at least liked a good “thank you for leaving your phone number but like I said, I’m not interested” phone call — but no, he’s bitter at himself for hoping Castiel would’ve changed his mind to begin with. He made it very, very clear that he didn’t want anything besides a good fuck, and Dean had enthusiastically consented to it, so why is he moping around, anticipating a text or a call? It’s typical of him to go in head first and only think about the consequences later.

Even though he’d very much like to not admit it, he has a crush. It’s not a serious thing to come down with; he knows he’s not harboring some deep emotions for Castiel, even though their connection was stunning — he’s not in love or something ridiculous like that. Still, it makes him a bit slow, a bit dreamy, and a bit uncomfortable knowing there’s nothing he can do about it. Castiel’s out the door, and that’s that.

He spends a good fifteen minutes telling himself to get over it in front of the mirror. The more he looks at himself, though, the more he looks like a lovestruck fool.

 

Surprisingly, watching Dr. Sexy reruns doesn’t help.

Dean shouldn’t be surprised. The plot very much travels along one-night-stands turned into love confessions, secret fucking in closets, a good solid relationship between two side characters that happen to be gay… All of that just makes Dean itch for something — that for once in his life, someone would’ve broken their own rules for him. It happens on TV, and shouldn’t those situations be based on something? If there was any justice in this sad little world, Castiel would call him right now, tell him he wanted more than what they had, and-

And what? What is it Dean even wants out of this? He’s not looking for a relationship, god no; he has a job he needs to finish, and a kingdom to get back to. So what does that leave, a casual sex relationship? Having a crush on someone and starting a friends-with-benefits arrangement with them sounds like a disaster, and even if Castiel would suggest something like that, he’d surely run as soon as he found out Dean has a crush.

Because he would tell Castiel. He would immediately spill his crush because apparently, he’s lost all semblance of filter. Ketchup lube jokes are a good example of that.

Nonsense, all of it.

To distract himself from thinking about this any longer, Dean picks up his phone. It takes him a while to fiddle through the numbers — a feeble attempt to avoid the inevitable — and finally, dials the court.

He gets redirected a total of four times before he’s on the line with Jacques; a person he undoubtedly should know but has already forgotten the face of.

“Mr. Winchester,” he says politely, “I didn’t expect to hear from you in another week.”

“I just wanted to let you know how I’m doing, I guess,” Dean replies, rising up to his feet to start pacing around the house. “Spoiler alert, it’s not well.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Prince Jasper is good at hiding, considering we didn’t manage to find him then or now. Do you wish to hear the latest report from the field?”

“There’s a field? I thought I was the field.”

“We did get our tip of the prince’s location from an anonymous source. They’ve contacted us again.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s hear it.”

“This reads as follows: _Subject seen around Grand Falls on several days. Moves around mostly on weekdays. Seen most around Hennigar corner and central town._ ”

“Jacques,” Dean interrupts him, which is probably rude, “do we trust this source?”

A deep sigh. “No, we don’t. You can only place so much trust on an anonymous source. But it’s all we have.”

“So you’ve… Basically, you’ve sent me out here because some guy just called you and said they saw the prince? This— this could be the town drunk giving out this info? This might be someone who’s not even in Grand Falls?”

“Basically, yes. Yet, they knew surprising details about the past of the prince. Things you aren’t able to figure out just by reading our history. Besides, people have left our ranks during the years, people have moved out and started their own lives in Canada. It wouldn’t be unlikely that one of our old guards is now living in Grand Falls and wanting to help us out.”

Dean frowns. “These anonymous tips only started during the past, what? Six months?”

“There’s been four during the past six months, yes, Mr. Winchester.”

“Wouldn’t that imply that either the tipper or the prince has moved here during the past six months?”

Dean waits for Jacques to tell him off, but instead, he gets a thoughtful hum. “You know, you might be onto something. I mean, it’s a stretch. It’s guesswork at best. Still… Have you made any friends? Could you ask around for people who have moved in during the past six months?”

“With the right kind of friends, I could get my hands into the town records, too.”

“We do not encourage you to break the local laws, Mr. Winchester.”

“I know. Well, I’ll just… ask around, then.”

They end the call with not much small talk, and Dean decides it’s time to ask Charlie for a visit.

Maybe it’s time to tell her everything.

 

 *

 

They don’t talk about Castiel before Charlie notices the bite marks.

First, she just gives him a look — one of the more insistent ones Dean’s come to realize belongs to situations where she calculates her options. She’s obviously trying to think of ways to best fish out the information she’s after, and Dean decides to play along even though he knows very well what she’s thinking about now.

“So, you’re settling in nicely?”

“Yeah, I have. We did meet a couple of days ago, though, so it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.”

She looks around the lounge room before her eyes meet the fireplace, currently alight with happily sparkling birch wood. “I’m glad you’re making friends.”

“Me, too. Although you’re still my main friend. Everyone else is nice, but… Obviously, not as cool as you.”

“You’re pulling my strings and I know you’re doing so, so cut the crap,” she says, her eyes stuck on the flames until she shakes herself free, squinting across the room. “Anything I should… Know about?”

“There is. I called you here for a reason. I need your help accessing some files no ordinary citizens should get access to. Do you think you could help me out with something like that?”

“It comes with a price,” she smirks, immediately latching onto her target.

“Of course.”

“Who did you fuck?”

Dean gives Charlie a palms-up gesture, feigning being appalled. “Whatever are you on about?”

“The love bites on your neck, the delirious grin you’re wearing whenever you think nobody’s looking, the way you keep on checking your phone. He’s not answering you, is that it?”

“First of all, how dare you assume it’s a he —”

“Kinsey solid five, Dean. I bet you used the opportunity of a new town to hook up with a pretty guy.”

“No arguments there. Uh, it’s Ceri. From the circus.”

Charlie doesn’t even try to fake she isn’t surprised. “What?! For real? You scored freaking _Ceri_?”

“What, like it’s hard?” Dean replies, wiggling his eyebrows. Charlie huffs a laugh.

“Well, to many, he’s the main prize. The ultimate goal. The, uh, Triwizard Cup, if you please.”

“No, I very much don’t please. He’s a human, not a cup.”

Charlie laughs, folding her legs under her on the armchair. “Well, at least I’m making Potter jokes again. My respect for J.K. Rowling plummeted faster than Dumbledore.”

“Wow, that’s — Wow, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome,” she says with a smug grin. “Anyway, how was it? A gentleman never tells, but you’re no gentleman, I know that by now.”

“Nice. So grateful that he decided to give me a drop of water on this desert I’m dwelling on, only to gallop away forever.”

“Watersports, really?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Are you for real?”

“You walked in this trap yourself, now lay in it. Hmm. So what you’re saying is that you’ve been horny forever and he only gave you a little bit of action?”

“No, what I’m saying is that I am fucking _thirsty_ for him and he doesn’t call me even though I gave him my number.”

She grimaces. “Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

“So am I. Anyway. Now you know. Can we move on?”

“Course! What do you need?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you about why I’m really here.” He takes a pause here, but Charlie doesn’t seem to be urging him to continue. “I’m looking for someone. It’s… Complicated, and by complicated I mean super complicated, but I’m looking for the crown prince of Sanan that’s been missing for close to twenty years.”

Charlie hums. “Well, considering how we met, I did know you’re looking for someone. But a prince? That’s something else. There must be a lot of pressure on you.”

“You have no idea. And since I’m obviously getting nowhere here, I could use all the help I can get.”

“So, some town documents, then?”

Dean tells Charlie the main points of his conversation with Jacques, and even though Charlie agrees it’s a bit of a fetch, they decide to go ahead and try anyway. It’s nice to have an ally on his side, and for the first time, Dean dares to feel cautiously optimistic about finding Jasper.

 

First, Dean’s not sure what wakes him up.

The TV is on, because after Charlie left, the house felt too silent. There was a movie channel Dean had missed before, and even though it mostly showed ten-year-old romcoms, it felt like a blessing in the dark. When Justin and Mila kissed on the screen, Dean passed out like a light, only slightly agitated about the plot twist of the movie; not all friends-with-benefits situations end in happiness.

Then, another _ding_.

His phone is on the coffee table in front of him, and his heart skips a beat as he realizes someone actually sent him a message. Sitting up, he sees the screen’s still lit and the messages are coming from an unknown number.

Unable to instantly look at what’s being sent to him, he walks away from the living room only to walk right back in.

There’s no way this isn’t Castiel, right?

A third _ding_.

Whoever it is, they have a lot to say at — Dean checks the clock on the Blu-Ray player under the TV — three forty am. Could this be Charlie? No way, he’s got her number saved. Basically, it could be her from another number, it could be any of his acquaintances back in Sanan, someone just changed numbers and wanted him to know…

But the timing is too convenient. 

Groaning at himself for being a wuss, he stops hovering at the threshold and stomps to the phone. There’s four new messages, now neatly stacked on top of each other on his lock screen, and it takes him a while to tap them open.

_Hello, Dean. It’s Castiel. Thank you for giving me your number._

_I almost didn’t text you, but I just returned from practice and remembered how nice it was to spend time with you last night._

_Hope I didn’t wake you up._

_I have a suggestion for you._

Dean exhales, because apparently reading messages requires holding in his breath. He reads the messages again, looking for a hidden meaning of… Of something negative, really. But Castiel is very clear in his wording; he enjoyed their time together enough to text him, he’s been thinking about Dean, and he wants to make a suggestion. In all honesty, that suggestion could be let’s just never see each other again, but he wouldn’t have texted if that’s what he wanted to say, right?

Nervously, Dean types.

_You did wake me up_

_But it’s alright,_

_I need to move my one-person sleepover to the bedroom anyway._

_Suggestion, you say?_

While waiting for Castiel to answer, Dean wanders to the kitchen for a quick sip of water. He wiggles his fingers and toes, then shakes his whole arms around a bit, blows a raspberry, huffs.

Nervous energy at four am isn’t ideal, but here he is.

_You’re not sleeping in your bedroom? Hope you’re not sore._

Dean hums. He wishes he was a bit more sore, to be honest, so he could better remember just how good Castiel felt inside him.

Besides, Castiel’s probably talking about being sore from sleeping in awry positions. Time to get his head out of the gutter again.

_My suggestion is that of a sexual relationship kind. Do you think it’s better we have it through texts or should I call you?_

Dean inhales sharply. Shit. Shit. Shit. This is exactly what he hopes for, and he’s so damn excited and nervous he doesn’t know how to type his answer.

_Texts r better,_

_I’ll get awkward if our first phone call includes sex talk._

_I also slept for an hour and a half so I’m super not articulate right now, and text gives me better chance to at least try_

It takes Castiel a while to compose his message, and Dean prepares a toast in the meantime. It’s a bit too early for coffee, though.

_You did enjoy spending the night with me, too, right?_

Dean frowns. All this typing for such a simple message? He replies with the toast hanging between his teeth.

_Dude are you really asking_

_It was awesome_

_!!_

When the wall of text hits Dean’s phone only seconds later, he realizes Castiel must’ve had this copied to his clipboard — and that he needed confirmation of Dean’s feelings first. Dean’s oddly satisfied about this piece of information.

_I need you to know that this is not a thing I would normally do. I’m unable to offer you a stable thing because everything’s a bit of a mess right now, and you’re not sure how long you’re going to stay in town… but I think it could work. In all brevity, I want to see how satisfying our one-night-stands could get. What I really want, Dean, is that we could explore just how submissive you are, and just how much you like me to restrain you. I want to become your Dominant._

Dean whispers a little oh as he finishes reading. He places the phone on the counter next to his abandoned toast, walks until he’s by the swimming pool, and crouches at the edge of it. He tries to remember to breathe through the initial shock that he’s trying to tell himself is more than just the biggest shot of excitement and arousal in his life. Trying out his voice, he slowly tells himself he needs to be reasonable and ask questions, set boundaries, talk this through with Castiel, and not just jump in headfirst.

His mind also reminds him that there’s the prince to take care of, and participating in any… distracting activities would make his progress slower. He could get in this way deeper than he should, given the situation in his life right now, but there’s also the selfish voice that tells him he should do it anyway. He thinks back to Sam’s words about finding calmness in intimate activities, and how his brain cleared completely the second Castiel took hold of his wrists.

Still, it’s dangerous. They don’t even know each other.

Dean walks sluggishly back to the kitchen to see what’s happened while he was away.

_We need to talk about what we want and only if we seem like a fit after that talk, we’ll proceed. I would also require us to keep our personal history off the table. There’s things in my past I’m not proud of, and I don’t wish to bring all that into a relationship that would partly function as a distraction from said things, you know what I mean? I don’t have a criminal record, nor have I done something that would get me one if I was caught (if you don’t count shoplifting when I was six)._

Dean starts typing even though he sees Castiel’s still writing too.

_I mean, if ure hidin things to protect yourself_

_And not because you think I wouldn’t like that stuff, you know??_

_Like, you’re not keeping stuff from me on purpose to make me like you more_

_And you just wanna protect yourself and think about something else_

_God knows I could think about something else besides how I’m currently letting everyone down_

And it’s true. He doesn’t like to think about it all that much, but not being able to get anywhere with Jasper makes him feel he’s let his family down. He’s let his passed father down, and Sam, and god, also the King… They were counting on him and he’s turning out to be a disappointment. He thinks about the responsibilities and the glass workshop he had to leave behind to come here, and his rare friends in Aleidia, and how all of it feels like this heavy black matter inside of him.

That’s not even counting how much Jasper would be disappointed in him if Dean, for whatever reason, did find him.

Even less so when he tells Jasper they should probably get married.

Too much is resting on his shoulders right now, and it makes the siren call of Castiel that much more appealing.

_If I were to say yes, what would happen next?_

His toast completely forgotten by now, Dean makes his way to the bedroom. He changed the sheets immediately after Castiel left, for which he’s both sad and happy now.

_This wouldn’t be the first time I participate in something like this, but it’s been long enough that you wouldn’t need to worry about being a replacement for someone. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you might have before we proceed. Also, there’s nothing I want to take away from you. I want us to explore your limits, and mine as well, but I want it all to happen in a situation where you know you have the last say on the matter. I value myself high regarding consent issues, and if it’s something you want to do, I’d even give you the number of my previous partner, although… In that case, we should probably chat what about me has made you think my own say on the matter isn’t worth trusting. I wouldn’t hold your mistrust against you, but I would maybe need to do some serious soul-searching if I believe I’ve presented myself in a trustworthy manner and yet you disagree. You understand what I mean?_

_What would happen next is that we’d meet somewhere someday this week. If you feel like it, you can go get tested already, just in case (I know I will. It’s been a while and even though I’ve been safe and scarce with my sexual encounters, I’m a bit uptight when it comes to health issues). We’ll talk about different situations, or even scenes, but only when you’re ready to do it we’ll proceed. If you’ll never be ready, I will understand you and we can return to being acquaintances, or friends._

_How does this sound?_

_  
_


	8. Le temps d’un souffle coupé

Dean never thought it was possible to wake up to a phone call when his phone is on silent, yet here he is.

He’s not surprised in the slightest to hear Charlie’s voice as he hums against the speaker. Maybe the spicy vibes she undoubtedly was sending his way for not answering his phone are what woke him.

“You asshole,” she says, “you send me out on this quest and go MIA on the first day.”

“Wh-”

He scoots himself upright. It looks as if the sun is setting behind the blinds, but that can’t be possible. He was just reading Castiel’s messages that seemed too good to be true, and drooling over the possibility of having something solid against his wrists and up his ass…

He’d fallen asleep.

“Were you … busy?”

Charlie sounds like she’s grimacing.

“No! Uh, no. I was still sleeping.”

“You do realize it’s getting close to the societal norm of a bedtime already?”

“I am starting to get it, yeah. So. Why are you angry, exactly?”

“I’ve found a couple of people that arrived in the span from a year to half a year. I know we only talked about six months, but let’s be honest, nobody moves in, sees a prince on the street and instantly calls Sanan. Don’t see that happening.”

“And if it’s the other way around, it’s not likely that the prince would immediately have been seen by someone who not only knows him, but knows who to contact in case of seeing him,” Dean mutters. “You’re right, but I also hate this playing detective thing we’re doing here, because honestly? We don’t know shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” Charlie sighs. “Anyway. I’ve got five people in here locked and ready to go. What do we do now?”

“What kind of information do you have on these people?”

“Well, funny you should ask. These are just people that have changed their Facebook hometown from anywhere in Sanan to Grand Falls. I was planning on digging deeper into their timelines as soon as they accept my fake profile’s friend request.”

Dean laughs. “You’re crafty, aren’t you?”

“Not really. Many people don’t want to share this information for the world… Or accept strangers as Facebook friends. I can’t promise these are even half of the actual amount of people. Besides, if this person’s been anonymous until now, it’s likely they’re gonna keep their profile vague.”

“Well, I can do some research too. I could…” Dean thinks back to Sam and wonders if he has time to spare. Some cross-checking of people who’ve left Sanan could help. “I could contact my brother, and Google, if you’ll handle Facebook. Hate the place.”

“Hate, or don’t get?”

“Both. Absolutely both.”

Charlie laughs. “Do you want to do this live? We could meet somewhere, get you out of your pyjamas, you know. Do the whole thing of coffee and pastries at the artisan district.”

“Is anything open anymore?”

“Something’s ought to be. Actually, you know what. We’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll have more information for you by then, and not all of us sport an unhealthy relationship with sleep.”

“I could call Sam tonight, then.”

“You do that.”

A short silence is followed by Dean’s awkward cough. “Hey, Charlie?”

She hums in reply.

“Do you know if I can get tested for STI’s anywhere around here?”

“What, you didn’t wrap your present?”

Dean snorts. He’s pleased Charlie’s not even fazed by this turn in the conversation. “I did. It’s that in the future, I might not want to wrap it again.”

She gasps dramatically. “Did he call you?!”

“Yeah. Well, actually he texted, but the statement remains.”

“I _knew_ you’d become a circus paramour! You have that whole face thing going on, no chance he wouldn’t want you.”

Dean shakes his head, frowning. “Now, we don’t have time to unpack all that, but…” He almost asks whether Charlie’s heard of Ceri’s previous lovers, or if him taking a _paramour_ is a common thing, but — no. If Castiel wants to tell Dean, he will. They need to trust each other. “But those STI tests, Charlie. They should happen.”

“Yeah, I know a place. We can go together. I’ll get tested just for the hell of it.”

 

*

 

After Dean ends the call, a flash of anxiety enters him upon realizing he totally left Castiel hanging. It’s not like he fears Castiel will be angry, but he’s had enough experiences in his past of people who don’t take the whole left at seen experience too well. Besides, there’s three new messages from Castiel, which adds to his skyrocketing stress levels.

He, of course, worries for nothing.

_I hope you fell asleep after those one-and-a-half hours you got. You can get back to me whenever you want. All of this might be easier live, actually._

_Good night, Dean._

_Good morning. It seems like you’re still sleeping, and I hope you get the rest you seem to need. I just returned from the clinic. Have a nice day, handsome._

There’s a lot to unpack, and Dean plans to get on it. First, though, he wants to rid himself of the restlessness that lingers after the initial anxiety wore off, and that’s best done in the pool.

Once he’s in his swimming trunks, standing on the edge of the pool and ready to make a dive for it, he thinks of Castiel again. On a whim, he picks up his phone from the nearby bench and snaps a picture of himself — nothing too naughty, just a quick snap of his face pre-swimming, and okay, maybe he winks, and maybe he crops the picture lazily so some of his upper body is visible, including the bite mark Dean’s hand still ghosts over more often than it doesn’t.

He already misses Castiel’s touch, and even though he hasn’t given him an answer yet, it doesn’t really seem likely that he would turn it down. It’s not just because Castiel’s attractive or because Dean’s touch-starved, even though both are true.  Ever since it first happened, any slight domination  has turned Dean on… Like, embarrassingly _on_ -on, and even though he’s never actively searched for a relationship where he could get these needs met, he’s been intrigued.

It felt so distant he hadn’t thought about it in a while; and now, suddenly, there’s Castiel.

_I’ll get back to you soon but right now, I need a quick swim._

He sends the message with the pic, and jumps in the pool before he can start second-guessing.

 

After a few leisurely laps and pointedly not-thinking about how it would feel to have Castiel’s body on top of him again, Dean finishes his swim. He returns to the dressing room mostly to dry himself, and as he picks up his phone after, he’s pleased to find out that Castiel has already answered.

_God, I want to renew that mark right now._

_Sorry, that was… You’re incredibly distracting, you know that, Dean?_

He throws the towel over his shoulder and feels incredibly emboldened by Castiel’s reply. Making it to the kitchen to have the latest lunch known to mankind, he decides to go a little further. Just a little to see, what Castiel would do.

_Distracting, you say? How would you like to get distracted with me?_

The reply is instant.

_Dean, I’m practicing._

_Well, I would like a round of practice too. Just so I know… What I’m up against._

_You’re up against some sweet leather handcuffs, tied to the bed by both your wrists and ankles, and me reminding you to keep your clever fingers away from your phone while I’m minutes away from changing into my spandex outfit, because now, my sweet man, you’re making me hard._

Dean blushes, scrunches his nose, puts the phone away to lift his fingertips to his cheeks, and sighs.

Oh, god, this is going to be incredible.

 

 *

 

The following morning, Dean and Charlie indeed meet at an artisan cafe. It’s quaint and sweet, and Dean can almost focus on the current moment instead of constantly thinking about a possible future with Castiel. Charlie walks him through her findings from Facebook, and although they still don’t have a lot to base their investigation upon, at least they’ve started. During their call yesterday, Sam promised to look into people who’ve moved from Sanan recently, and when he asked about whether the voice sounds more feminine or masculine, Dean realizes he never asked for specifications about the tipper. Another call to Jacques it is, no matter how much he’d rather forget all of his connections to the court right around now, since all it does is remind him of how he’s failed in many aspects.

Because they agreed they’d be doing work together today (and because Dean doesn’t currently own a computer and his phone is both a little slow and a little small), they start googling. Three of the names are annoyingly generic and instantly start bringing up unnecessary results from people all over the world, but two seem unique enough; Garth Fitzgerald the Third, and Harry Spangler. Harry, for one, is known for petty schemes around both Sanan and Canada, and although he’s been charged with a couple of crimes, he’s always managed to pay himself out. It wouldn’t be unlikely for a person like this to be after the reward money for finding Jasper, but again, since Dean didn’t think and ask details about the caller, he doesn’t know if these kind of tips are being rewarded by the King.

Then again, Garth has been struggling to make ends meet for a long time. He could as well be the one.

“We’ve got no choice but to call them,” Charlie muses. “Call them and interview them.”

“Uh. First of all, interview them _why_? Second of all, do we just ask them whether they’ve seen the prince and called back to Sanan?”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “No, we need to be craftier. We’re from a travel blog, and been living out of Sanan for years now to travel across Canada. We feel a bit homesick and start looking into what kind of people have decided to leave our beloved homeland, and casually ask if they still keep in touch with people from there. Shit. A phone interview isn’t going to be enough, we need to see them. I’m good at telling if someone lies.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“I did know you were hiding something from me the second you opened the door for me the other day.”

“It was the hickey.”

“Well, duh. It was… thoroughly crafted. Still. We should meet them at a cafe or at their house, ask some subtle questions, and see if they actually slip.”

“There’s little to no chance our culprit is either of these two, though.”

“That’s been established. Let’s do this anyway.”

“How are we gonna make them believe we’re not stalkers? How did we find them if not through stalking?”

“We can be truthful about the Facebook thing. After all, I got this information without having my friend requests accepted. If that had happened, we might have five people to visit already.”

Dean quirks a brow over the rim of his coffee mug. “The fake Facebook profile doesn’t happen to belong to a travel blogger, does it? Did you actually plan this before even asking me?”

“Uh… A little? I mean, we’ll still need all the info from Sam, and none of this would’ve happened without you in here so maybe instead of thinking I stepped on your toes, be a little grateful?” she grins, some guilt definitely slipping into the expression. Dean sighs.

“Don’t really care. I need this thing done, and if you’re smart enough to hatch a plan, just drag me along.”

She frowns for a second before nodding. “Will do.” She finishes her coffee, prompting Dean to do the same. “Now, though, we’re gonna go get probed.”

 

It’s a quick thing, really. Charlie’s chosen a clinic that doesn’t provide anonymous testing, which means that Dean has to pay for the costs as a non-citizen of Canada. It’s for the better, though, because he’ll have his name on the papers when he gives them to Castiel. Thinking of what follows a clean medical record almost makes him pop a boner while peeing into the cup, and he needs to chastise himself until he’s through the tests.

Stepping into the bright sunlight of midday, it takes Dean a while to locate Charlie. She’s sitting on a bench next to the clinic and just finishing a phone call, after which she eagerly gestures Dean to join her.

“How did it go?” she asks. “I just told my current partner to get tested too.”

“Do I get to meet this partner, or is it just a casual thing?”

“Are you gonna introduce Ceri as your partner any time soon?” They share a short look, after which Charlie shrugs. “I don’t know. I want it to mean something, but Gilda is hesitant.”

“If you wanna talk, I’m all ears,” Dean says before gesturing to the phone still in Charlie’s hands. “Was that her just now?”

“Nope, it was Garth. He’d be ready to meet us whenever. Invited us over to his apartment, and I promised we’d go right away.”

Dean frowns. “Wasn’t really planning on that, but okay. What do I do?”

“We can talk strategy while walking. It’s not too far.”

Dean nods and as they start strolling in the easy spring weather, he picks the phone from his pocket. He still hasn’t given Castiel any kind of a decent reply (fishing for sexy commentary doesn’t count), and he needs him to know how interested he is before the offer is off the table.

_I’m sorry I’ve neglected the reply_

_I kind of regret texts because I can’t text exactly how into this I am_

He pockets his phone just when it buzzes in reply. Castiel’s a fast texter.

_Do you have time to tell me this live tonight, then? I could offer you a nightcap after my performance tonight._

_Unfortunately just for talking, though. We could talk about our likes. Boundaries, even._

Dean swallows and focuses on the road ahead for a while. He can feel Charlie’s eyes on him but isn’t ready for the smug grin that’s undoubtedly on her face.

_Sounds amazing, Cas. See you soon._

 

 *

 

Charlie is clever, although the amount of detail he weaves into their traveling story implies she’s been thinking about this for far longer than she lets Dean know. Garth, on the other hand, doesn’t seem too troubled by — well, anything, really. He’s an easy-going, albeit awkward, guy who seems impossibly interested about their past in Sanan; it’s nice enough, since the only way Dean can prove himself useful is through firsthand experience from the country. It’s been eight months since Garth left the country, and for a moment, they talk politics.

According to him, Garth noticed early on that it’s impossible to talk about the King of Sanan without mentioning the prince. He seems a little worried about the current situation, because apparently having to choose an heir from outside the family would be a hassle that could put the whole country into a state of unrest. Since Garth doesn’t know a lot about court traditions or issues, he can’t say what the kingdom is up against, and while Charlie gently steers the conversation to whether Garth has kept in touch with people from his old homeland, Dean thinks back to Sam. Would it be too much to ask him to look into the unrest issue, too? It’s not like they were both placed in charge of finding Jasper. Besides… Sam’s got a lot on his plate.

He makes a mental note of asking Jacques about it the next time he calls.

As the day passes and they eat decent homemade pizza on the balcony, Dean almost starts to believe in the tales Charlie tells Garth. She’s good at painting a mental image, and for fleeting moments, Dean can see Vancouver, St. John from the sea, the Banff National Park, and Old Quebec. At one point, Garth asks them to write their blog address down so he can check it out and support them with a few shares over his social platforms, but Charlie cleverly changes the subject fast enough that he doesn’t remember to ask again. Dean can still see Charlie remind herself to _make that blog happen as soon as possible._

Unfortunately, Garth isn’t the answer to all the questions they have. He’s a genuine enough guy, although there’s a sadness running under that embarrassing comical relief facade — but he doesn’t seem to know anything Dean and Charlie didn’t already know coming here. With nothing but the off-topic lead of needing to check what kind of problems choosing a ruler from outside the King’s family could cause Sanan, they leave the house.

 

As much as Dean likes Charlie by now, he’s glad she calls it a day after they leave Garth’s place. He feels almost giddy as he walks through the circus grounds, and because it’s still half an hour before the show begins tonight, he spends a couple of dollars on cotton candy. He also buys himself a ticket, because nothing’s as good a use for the kingdom’s money as circus — although Castiel would probably let him in for free.

He tries not to think cliches about how much his head feels like spun sugar when presented with the possibility of seeing Castiel. He can only hope the feeling subsides before they talk, because right now, after a couple of days of not seeing each other, he’ll be a bumbling jerk — and instead of failing to form complete sentences, he should be able to tell him explicitly what he wants.

Oh, god. What does he want? What _doesn’t_ he want?

Thinking about that makes Dean’s spun sugar brain turn into something consisting much more of leather, so maybe it’s not time to think about this now. Instead, he makes his way inside and takes a seat by the door.

Not long after that, tonight’s show starts. It’s weird to see Lisa on stage; Dean knows her now, has hung out with her at the bar, knows a little of her backstory. It makes her moves seem more elegant and her performance more personal, somehow — even though she’s still spinning hula hoops around different parts of her body, like last time.

It’s a quiet night. There’s enough audience to fill half of the seats, and although they’re happy to be watching the show, something seems to be missing from the big picture. Dean can’t say what it is; every performer gets a hefty round of applause, everyone is doing amazing onstage, and the tent keeps the chill of the evening outside. Nothing should be askew, and yet…

His line of thought snaps as he sees Castiel. Tonight, he’s wearing white, a sparkling outfit that reminds Dean of male figure skaters — or would, if it didn’t also include white ribbons flowing behind him, tied across his arms like those of ballet shoes.

He looks beautiful. Ethereal, unreal, stunning, and when he waves to the audience, the whole room turns towards him.

A gentle piano starts, and Castiel closes his eyes. The lyra descends from a bright light in the ceiling, and stills behind him — he lifts his hands to the sides and grabs the hoop, steps back and lets his instrument carry him up.

The ribbons swirl beautifully in the air as Castiel sets himself in a slow spin. There’s a sadness in his moves that lines up perfectly with the music playing on the background, and everything about his performance is resonating with Dean in a way that nearly makes him uncomfortable. It’s a song about insecurity and growing up, and nothing about Castiel’s moves indicates he doesn’t know the feeling perfectly. Dean knows he shouldn’t, but he wonders what kind of a past his possible future Dominant has.

He could say no to Castiel’s condition about keeping their past history out of their relationship, though he thinks if he asked about it, he’d probably get an answer — Dean’s got a feeling that in order to keep him comfortable, Castiel would break his own rule. It’s a rather comforting thought, even though Dean couldn’t really go through with asking.

His thoughts are again pulled from his head as Castiel lets his body drop until he’s hanging upside down with the back of his left knee against the lyra. He reaches out his hands and follows them with his gaze, revealing the muscular column of his neck. It hits Dean with an almost possessive wave when he realizes he’s actually kissed that neck, those lips, had those arms around him…

God, he needs more.

 

The moment their eyes meet across the small post-show crowd, Castiel pays no attention to anything but Dean. It makes him squirm with pleasure, and already, he’s failing at the whatever playing it cool strategy he was planning.

Maybe it’s better to be sincere, anyway.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says softly. His lips curve into a smile that’s just this side of shy, and Dean can swear his heart starts melting. “Glad you could make it.”

“Of course. I was bored all day anyway.”

Castiel looks around, and a slight frown passes his features. “So, do you want to stay and catch up with the others, or are we going to head back to my place?”

“I, uh. When you meet them next, could you tell them how much I love their acts?”

He nods. “Of course. Let’s go, then.”

They walk through the tent in silence, Dean’s feet as unfamiliar on the soft ground as before. He briefly wonders whether it’ll be awkward, but Castiel said he’s been in an arrangement like this before. Surely he knows how to navigate a conversation about limits.

“How are you?” Castiel asks once they’re outside. It’s been dark for a while now, and even though the day was sunny, the night is foggy and almost cold. There’s a foreboding atmosphere in the circus grounds, and Dean hates feeling like this — something bad happening in a circus at night is a cliche he’s seen in too many books and movies. Castiel wouldn’t approve of him thinking like this about what must be home for him by now.

“Not gonna lie, a little nervous,” Dean manages to say. Castiel glances at him before letting out a gentle sigh.

“I understand. Look, I want you to know there’s no pressure for tonight. If you want to talk about the weather, we can do that. We can see where the discussion takes us.”

“I want to talk about our plans,” Dean says hastily, “I just fear I won’t be able to express myself clearly.”

Castiel nods. They turn towards Pamela’s house, and a myriad of emotions pass through Dean’s mind in a second. Are they going to get some psychic advice before moving forward? That seems counterproductive to the plan of only focusing on the now. Has Castiel found out Dean’s looking for the prince? What if he thinks that’s a more important pastime and will send him on his merry way immediately? Most of all, will Pamela recognize him and start throwing tiny plants towards him to keep him away?

Before Dean can open his mouth to ask anything, Castiel hops up the thousand-plant-stairs, and takes a sharp turn left. Dean follows him up a narrow staircase with a curious frown. Before an old door, Castiel spins around to meet Dean’s gaze in the dim glow of a solar light.

“For the record,” he whispers, “my landlady lives downstairs. If we were to get into a special kind of a relationship, it would either take place in your mansion or my treehouse.”

Well, that clears that. Dean blinks, thinking back to the time he visited Pamela and heard footsteps above him. He’d been close to Castiel before he realized.

“Either is fine. I’ve got space.”

“My bondage gear is portable,” Castiel grins before pushing the door inward with his shoulder. Dean suppresses a shiver.

As they step into the hallway, the first thing Dean notices is sound. The apartment is not quiet; there’s a low metallic humming going on somewhere deeper in the space. It seems open-concept enough from what he can see in the semi-dark — there’s an alcove with a loft bed, a small kitchenette opposite the front door, and a single door on the right must head to a bathroom. Castiel leaves his jacket on the coat rack and gestures for Dean to do the same before heading towards the dining table. He puts on some lights while he walks, and Dean looks around, almost dropping his coat.

It’s beautiful. It’s cozy, it’s whimsical, it’s easy on the eyes. The two moving installation artworks cast lively shadows on the walls, whirring away gently; the sound of them is calming on Dean’s nerves. Fairy light lanterns light up the underside of the loft bed, inviting Dean in almost irresistibly. He wonders if talking boundaries could happen in a fairy lantern nook, sitting on large pillows.

If this situation were to scratch all of his secret fantasy itches, it totally could.

“What are you thinking?” Castiel asks. He’s got a kettle brewing already, and deflecting, Dean points at it.

“Nothing. Uh, heatable night caps?”

“Just tea for us right now,” he says gently, “I want us both completely sober for this conversation. If it’s alcohol you want, I’ve got some good whiskey hiding in a cupboard and we can get through it as soon as we’re done talking.”

Dean nods. “Fair enough.”

“However,” Castiel continues, hopping down from the table and turning his back to Dean as he works on getting mugs down. “I would prefer you speak your mind with me tonight. If it’s something  too uncomfortable to say out loud, just tell me and and I will understand. Still, I feel saying you’re thinking about nothing when you obviously are is… disadvantageous.”

Dean clears his throat.

“You’re right. I was thinking that if I had my way, we’d have this conversation in your cozy nook.”

Castiel follows Dean’s gesture with his eyes, and lifts his brow. “Oh! Good choice. Let’s do that. Uh, black, red, white, green?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Castiel nods with a smile. “You go right ahead. I’ll be right with you.”

 

 *

 

Dean’s mug is steaming and smells like blackberries. He’s sitting cross-legged under the stars of the fairy light lanterns, and Castiel is looking at him, intrigued and warm.

“If you’re ready, we could start.”

Dean nods. “I’m… this is nice.”

“Good to know,” Castiel says with a half-smile pointed mostly at his mug, “the more you tell me about your likes, the more I know.”

“Kind of obvious,” Dean laughs, because he’s awkward of all the softness that surrounds him. “So, how do we do this? You have a checklist or something?”

“I can get you a checklist if you want, but I prefer talking. It’s easier to see just how into or not into things we are.”

Dean lowers his gaze while wondering if _there’s not a whole lot I wouldn’t let you do to me_ is an unhealthy answer. Castiel smiles at him gently, as if understanding what he’s thinking about.

“Alright, I’ll start with simple yes or no questions, and you’ll elaborate if you deem it necessary. Does that sound good?”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s… Awesome. Sorry if you feel you need to drag me along. I’m not really familiar with all of this.”

“Don’t apologize for not knowing. In fact, there will rarely be anything  I want you to apologize for, and if that ever happens I’ll explicitly tell you what’s expected of you.”

Dean huffs out a laugh that comes out louder than he intended. He returns his gaze to his mug so he doesn’t have to spot the moment Castiel realizes how vigorously he’s blushing.

“That being said, it’s important that we both realize the only time I have any hold on you is when you’ve verbally consented to a scene and there’s no mistaking we’re in one. These might seem like irrelevant things, but they’re crucially important to me because I want you to understand that I don’t own you, or have control over you.”

“Unless I want you to,” Dean says. There’s something in Castiel’s words here he wants to latch onto, but there’ll be time for that when he elaborates on his yeses and nos.

“Unless you want me to,” Castiel confirms with a pointed nod. “So, let’s start easy. Kissing.”

Dean frowns. “Isn’t that a given?” The second it leaves his mouth, he regrets it — and Castiel’s face of impending worry only makes it worse. He nods, mostly to himself. “Nothing’s a given.”

“That’s right. Good thinking. We will go through every single thing here, so we’ll both know what we’re up against.”

“It’s a good idea. But, uh, yes to kissing. Mouth, face, jaw, neck, chest, every place you can reach. Enthusiastic yes to kissing.”

Castiel nods. “Me, too.”

They look at each other, and for a while, there’s an unspoken question between them. Still, Castiel wanted to talk and nothing else, so Dean occupies his lips with the tea mug. It’s different than Earl Gray, that’s for sure, but just as magical as the room and the company he’s in.

“Oral sex, giving and receiving.”

“Yup, both. Particularly enjoy getting my face fucked.”

Castiel nods again. “So I recall. I think setting a boundary to how deep you want me to go is important, too.”

“Deepthroating, hell yes. I love the feeling of —” For the first time, he falls silent. He thought he’d have no problem stating his needs, but here he is — unable to say what it is about deepthroating he loves. Should he even like it if he can’t say it aloud?

“What do you fear?” Castiel asks. Dean frowns. “I think you can’t tell me because of fear. You’re afraid of something.”

“Judgement,” he says without blinking. “Doing stuff is one thing, but saying it aloud… I’m afraid I’ll realize I’m a sick freak.”

“Oh, we’re all freaks in this neighborhood, absolutely,” Castiel says pointedly, “we’re called ‘circus freaks’ for a reason. Telling me what you like isn’t going to make you _sick_ , whatever that means. Are you afraid of your judgement or mine?”

Dean grimaces. “Both. Can we… Can we circle back to this?”

“Of course. So, I’m going to separate rimming from blowjobs here.”

“Haven’t… I’ve been on the giving end, don’t know about receiving.”

“Alright. Are you curious?”

“I… Yes.”

“So if I’ll establish beforehand that I would like to rim you, you’d be willing to give it a go?”

Dean focuses on the taste of his tea to keep from getting an erection from the sheer thought of Castiel’s tongue in his ass. “Yeah. I definitely would.”

“Good. Both blowjobs and rimming are a yes for me, too.”

 

After getting through the basics of what could be going where, it gets really technical. Castiel asks Dean about bondage devices, butt plugs, vibrators, spanking, orgasm control, and blindfolds which all are a yes for both of them, and dressing up, video tapes, and public scenes that are a maybe, or at the very least, not initiated without talking about them beforehand. They agree on most of their hard nopes too; bodily fluids that aren’t a result of sexual stimulation (that includes spit, because spitting is something Dean considers a little demeaning), as well as body modification, infantilism including all its adjacents (they do share a couple of thoughts about the words _good boy,_ but neither are troubled by using it), sharing Dean with another Dom, and any act of penetration as a punishment. Hesitantly, Dean also tells Castiel that he doesn’t like to be used as a cock warmer, or furniture; he wants to feel like he’s considered a human at all times during scenes.

Eventually, Castiel squints at Dean.

“So,” he says, letting the word drag a little, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Dean swallows. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Take your time.”

Castiel isn’t pushing him, for which Dean is grateful, and before the words can stick themselves to his palate again, he blurts them out.

“Choking.” Well, that’s halfway there. The worst is out, right? “That’s what I like about deepthroating. To feel like… To feel like I’m swimming because I’m not sure I can breathe. While that’s out, I also do like the feeling of hands around my neck, to give up control like that, but I don’t think I’d actually like to be _choked_ -choked, you know? Not enough to leave lasting marks, or that I seriously can’t breathe, or that I need to worry if you’re gonna break something.”

Castiel nods, bemused. “So it’s in giving up control more than it’s about actually choking.”

“Exactly.”

“That can be arranged. I hear you loud and clear. I think there’s a couple of things you need to feel here, and the first are that you feel safe, and cherished. Am I right so far?”

“Yes, you’re… definitely…” Dean blushes, because damn it, cherished is something he has never been. There’s a corner in his heart almost darkened by the lack of soft affection, and by the looks of it, Castiel is weaving himself all in. “You’re right. I also love to be called by that name. _Love_.”

“I definitely can call you that,” he says, his eyes shining. “Anything else I should know?”

There’s a smile almost hidden in Castiel’s features. He knows what Dean wants, but he needs him to say it out loud.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Like I said on our night together, sometimes I just like to be roughed up. Just,” Dean sighs, trying to make his point across, “held down and fucked into the mattress. Hair pulled, skin bitten. I — I don’t want you to ever touch me like that because you’re angry, though. But I want you to… Want me so bad you just need to have me right now.”

Castiel lifts a brow. If all the dominance in the world could be wrapped up in one gesture, that would be it. Dean stifles a gasp. He’s shivering.

“That is not going to be a problem, Dean. As we speak, I need to refocus all the time to not get lost in how much I want to bend you over and fuck you so you’ll feel it tomorrow.”

“Hmm!” Dean says loudly. “Sounds alright. Sounds like a … decent thing, you know?”

Castiel looks at his tea, probably for the first time during their conversation. “I guess that’s a yes for dirty talk, too.”

“Speaking of dirty talk. I do like it.”

“Judging by the way you said spitting is demeaning, you’re more into praise.”

“Hell yeah. Uh, also… Also,” he mumbles. Okay, he’s made it this far. Might as well take the final leap and pick up the thread he left hanging at the start of this conversation. “Possessiveness. I know you don’t want to own me. I know you don’t own me. But when we’re in a scene, I want you to tell me I’m yours. That I do this for you, and that you wouldn’t want me with anyone else.”

Castiel’s smile is warm, genuine. “Look at you. At the start of this, you were uncertain if you’re able to say yes or no. Now, you’re telling me what you want me to do.”

Dean frowns. “Uh, I’m sorr — right, no apologizes. Is that a thing I shouldn’t do?”

“Yes, it’s a thing you should do.”

When Dean realizes he’s said everything he’d like to, and that the conversation is coming to a close, he feels a weight lifted. He’s secure. He feels safe. He knows he can do this, and he knows he wants to.

“I’d like you to think about this for a little longer before we make a decision, sleep on it,” Castiel says, as though he’s reading Dean’s mind and is adamant on ruining the moment, “but nothing you have told me tonight makes me want to pull back my offer. On the contrary.”

“That’s… reassuring,” Dean says, frowning again. “So. Are we good here?”

“We didn’t talk aftercare.”

“I… Know it needs to be discussed, but to be honest, I don’t know what I’ll need yet? Probably food, and probably a lot of touching and kisses — wait, are kisses allowed after scenes?”

“Absolutely. Before and after, whenever you please. I do prefer asking for consent first, though.”

“That I can do,” Dean says thoughtfully. “But other than that, I don’t know. Touch me. Stay close. Tell me I’m pretty.”

He tries to make it into a joke, but Castiel’s having none of it. Good.

“Sounds good. Now I —”

Castiel’s phone rings on the kitchenette counter, and he frowns. He checks the time on the large wall clock to their left and frowns even deeper.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this. I don’t know who it could be.”

“Of course. Good timing from them in any case.”

“Don’t leave just yet,” Castiel says, even though Dean hasn’t made a move to get up from the coziest nook of his life, “I want to walk you out.”

 

 *

 

It’s clear in Castiel’s voice that something is wrong. Hell, it’s clear in all of him.

He paces around the open space, his hand through his hair a hundred times a minute. His voice is exaggeratedly calm, but in his gestures it’s clear he’s hiding something. Dean knows that look. If they’re at least a bit similar people, Castiel is currently hiding something that has been troubling him, but he doesn’t want to stress other people out with his problems.

“I’ll be right there,” he says and finishes the call.

Dean gives him a worried look. “Is everything alright?”

“I don’t… Know,” Castiel says, looking at the phone still in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever’s going on. “Lisa called. She was really upset. We need to go now, I’ll tell you while we walk.”

Dean gets up and walks to the door to put on his jacket. Castiel collects his keys and pockets his phone before yanking open the door, his own jacket only half-on.

“So,” Dean manages while they fly down the stairs. “What’s happening?”

“Lisa was doing some late-night practicing and felt someone’s eyes on her. Everyone else had already left, and it took her awhile to find who was watching her. There’s someone in the tent, hidden under the audience seats. Someone that’s… clicking.”

“Uh. You might have to, you know, explain what you mean by clicking.”

“I’ve no idea myself. Lisa just asked me to come immediately.”

“Will she be alright about me being there as well?”

Castiel slows his pace before shaking his head, apparently to clear it. “I don’t know. I hope so, but if we’re going to be spotted by someone at the circus, I’m glad it’s her.”

Dean swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. They didn’t talk about privacy, and right now, Castiel makes it sound like he’s a bit embarrassed to be seen with Dean.

Before he can spin this into something ugly, Castiel stops, his eyes serious, and he lifts his hand to Dean’s cheek. “I’ll explain later — what I can, anyway, because the past is a difficult thing. If I had my way, I’d hang out with you in public and introduce you to my friends.”

“Shit,” Dean manages. “You’re scary. Were you born with the gift of mind-reading or did it come to you later on?”

Castiel smiles shortly before turning around again. Right, they’re in the middle of something. “No, I just… Have a feeling your mind works similarly to mine.”

“If that’s the case, I’m sorry for you,” Dean mutters. Castiel looks like he wants to tell Dean off for mocking himself, but there’s more urgent matters to take care of.

 

Lisa is standing in the middle of the tent, and indeed, something is clicking in the corner. It sounds a little like someone’s clicking their tongue,  but drier.

“Hi, thanks for coming,” Lisa says, immediately speedwalking to give Castiel a hug. “I called Balthazar too, but it went to voicemail.”

“It makes sense for me to come, I live close,” Castiel says, although again, his voice sounds like he’s hiding something. “You remember Dean.”

Lisa gives Dean a quick once-over, and smiles. “Of course I do, silly. Nice to meet you again, Dean.”

“You too.”

Whatever Lisa’s thinking about the fact that Castiel is accompanied by Dean at two a.m., she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she gestures towards the seats. “As you can hear, there’s someone, or something, here. I tried calling out to them, but they aren’t replying.”

“Rowena’s not out back?”

“Probably is. I didn’t want her to be the first one to be here.”

Castiel nods and turns towards the clicking sound. He tilts his head slightly before taking a couple of steps forward.

“Don’t — don’t take unnecessary risks,” Lisa says, crossing her arms across her chest. Idly, Dean walks next to her, maybe for some silent support.

“Of course not,” Castiel whispers, probably mostly to himself. “I just want to know what’s —”

His sentence is cut short because of another sound; loud clapping comes from the other side of the room. Dean and Lisa both spin around to locate the source, and Dean’s chest instantly tightens at the sight.

There’s a whole group of people standing in the tent. They seem to be staring back at Dean, all wearing different expressions — amused, intrigued, angry, insulted, mocking, contemptuous. Only one of them is clapping.

“Hey,” Lisa yells, “the circus is closed.”

Apparently, it’s the wrong thing to say. If these things looked human before, that impression vanishes the second they start moving; they’re gliding and warping across the floor, twitching as they come. Dean looks to his left only to see Lisa’s already running away, and as he takes a step back, Castiel’s there. He spins around and their eyes meet, and Dean can read a lifetime of worry and regret from Castiel’s face.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you here,” he says, glancing behind Dean to see how close the things are. “You should leave.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Ceri!” a voice rings out from somewhere. Looking around, Dean notices the person that was clicking under the seats before has now risen to one of the chairs. “What do you see?”

Castiel flinches and groans before kneeling on the ground. Dean follows, places a hand on his shoulder, doesn’t really know what he’s saying to him because suddenly, it’s so loud everywhere around them. Clicking, yelling, whistling, clapping, all blend into a chaos and it’s hard for Dean to hear his own thoughts. Then, Castiel looks straight at him, like he’s taking in all of Dean to keep himself grounded on what’s real. Dean nods as if he realizes he should be doing something, and takes better hold of Castiel’s arm to pull him up again. He doesn’t look around because he can’t allow himself to get distracted from his mission of walking Castiel to the door, and when they’re almost there, the yelling turns into chanting.

Even though Dean would rather just get them out right now, he stops when Castiel turns around.

“Oh, no,” Castiel says, his voice quiet, defeated. “Oh, fuck, no.”

A woman is now standing on the trapeze platform, her hands lifted at her sides, and even though it’s hard to see detail from this far away, her eyes might be closed. Her head is tilted to an angle that doesn’t seem right, and she’s humming — no, growling.

“She’s one of our technicians,” Castiel says. “I don’t—”

“Ceri?”

The ringmistress stands behind them, fixing Dean with one of the coldest stares he’s ever seen. Castiel refuses to look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on the woman still teetering at the edge of the platform.

“I’m, uh,” Dean says, trying to come up with anything that would be okay to say in a situation like this.

“I think it’s best that you leave,” Rowena says. When Dean opens his mouth to argue, she steps forward and for a brief moment, Dean understands just what this woman is capable of. She’d go the distance to protect her favorite child. “Leave. Right. _Now_.”


	9. Par un soir tardif d’été

It’s hard to focus.

Dean is looking at the message Charlie sent. They should go pick up their STI results today.

They should also meet with the other person on their list, Harry something.

And here he is, doing neither.

He can’t get his mind off Castiel: His face when he realized it was one of his acquaintances up on the platform, him kneeling on the ground in obvious pain, his message stating that the woman jumped soon after Dean was driven away, and he’s going to need a couple of days to take care of things.

He pointedly doesn’t call Sam. He can’t deal with the inevitable questioning he’d get. The kid is too smart and would figure out something’s wrong.

He doesn’t call Charlie either, pretty much for the same reasons. Besides, he doesn’t want to show her how fast he fell from being a possible circus paramour to something…

Nothing?

Dean shakes his head and forces himself to get distracted with his phone. Charlie sent another message.

_I've got something important to tell you too, asshole! Call me._

He rolls his eyes and does as he's told.

“Oh! You are alive,” Charlie says, completely uninterested. It's hard to say, but it sounds like she's currently faceplanting a table.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry.”

“No, you know what? You're not. You're not sorry and that sucks.”

Dean puts his hand over his heart, as if feeling whether the sorry is present. He's not sure if he can take Charlie's blame right now, no matter how just it is.

“I don't like that I made you worry. I might not have got around to feeling sorry yet, but that's just because I've just been through a blender, but I was coming around to it.”

Charlie huffs. “You're lucky I'm not a hateful person because I would totally hate you. Instead I appreciate your honesty. What happened? Wait, this is obviously about the circus death. What happened?”

“Oh, you've heard?”

“It was on the news. Did you know the gal?”

“No, but Ceri did. I was there when… well, I wasn't there when it happened because I was driven away like five seconds before.”

“Wow,” Charlie says, suddenly worried, “are you okay?”

“It's him I'm worried about, but he's not letting me in. I don't… it's all a mess. I don't wanna talk about it. What did you have to tell me?”

“Ooh, yes. This is scary and important. Missouri wants to meet you again.”

Dean frowns. He's had no time to think about her predictions about silver lines and running into Jasper since he's been too occupied with Castiel. What could she have to say now?

“Uh. Yeah. That sounds ominous. When did she tell you this?”

“Like fifteen minutes ago. She expects you posthaste, and I’ll accompany you, but let’s go get the results first. This OK?”

“As always, you’ve got it planned. Who am I to argue.”

“Especially since you’re not even sorry.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy you ice cream? It seems to be sunny out.”

Charlie feigns consideration. “Sounds like a deal. Meet you outside the clinic in half an hour. Bring rum ice cream from the artisan district.”

 

Fresh air is nice after spending days sulking indoors. Dean walks slowly, mostly because he’s yet to see all of the beauty of the district in sunlight. He buys ice cream and briefly thinks what it would feel like to actually live here. Could he be happy somewhere that wasn’t Sanan? It seems foolish to even think about somehow being too attached to his home country to ever move away — but there’s so many things to consider. Would he still blow glass, and if, where? Is building his own studio something he wants to do? What would happen to Sam?

He’s shaken from his thoughts when someone calls him by his name.

“Dean!”

He turns around to see an older man standing outside the glassblowing workshop. Frowning, he walks up to him.

“Hello?”

“Name’s Rufus. You left something at my place.”

He crosses his arms, giving Dean a stern look. It still takes a while for it to click.

“Oh, yes. The sculpture. Your things. I used your— hey. I’m sorry if that’s something you despise.”

“’S okay. It was a nice piece. Any friend of my wayward son is a friend of mine.”

“How did you know it was me, though?”

“You think I don’t have a security camera? That gave me your mug. The message you left gave the name. So, I see you’re busy right now,” he says, gesturing to the ice cream pint in Dean’s hand, “but when you’re not, come get your sculpture. I can offer you some coffee.”

“Sounds awesome,” Dean says, still a little wary over whether this man is really being kind under his serious gaze. “I’ll… I can’t say when, but I’ll get back around to it.”

“Cool. Don’t forget, though,” he says, pointing at Dean with a butter knife Dean didn’t notice was in his hand.

Dean salutes him, nods, and leaves. He thinks about how strange this encounter was until he walks up to Charlie.

“What’s with the face?” she asks, snatching the ice cream from Dean’s hand before he can extend his arm to offer it. “You look… confused.”

“No, I just,” he says, gesturing towards the artisan district now far behind him. “I don’t even know. Let’s just go get the results, okay?”

Charlie shrugs and nods, and they walk in. While waiting for the receptionist to find their information, he tries to think what it is about his unexpected meeting with Rufus that makes him feel this weird. He said nothing about Dean using his materials and equipment, and he seemed to be okay with the whole breaking-and-entering nature of their nightly visit, and hell, he even offered coffee and probably some trade secrets with it.

That’s just the thing, though, Dean thinks, his heart sinking. It’s that Rufus is a fellow glassblower, and for the first time in ages, someone who knows a lot about the industry saw his finished work of art and commented on it. Shit, he probably saw his whole process too, because it’s all there in the tape. Dean can’t help it; his mind starts running through the phases of blowing glass, and how he applied substance to his work on that specific night. He probably took some shortcuts and now Rufus knows he’s a fraud.

 _Not like it matters, asshole_ , Dean tells himself. _It’s only a matter of time before people see you for what kind of a failure you are._

They make it back outside, and he’s only really awakened from his thoughts as Charlie taps him playfully on the shoulder. “That worried about the results, huh?”

Dean looks down at the closed envelope in his hand. When did he even take it? “Uh… No. I know it’s an all clear.”

“You’re really a toot and a half today, aren’t you,” Charlie huffs and rips her envelope open with her teeth. It takes her a second to skim through the page. “Hah! Clean. Knew it.”

Dean frowns and manages to break his cuticle on the sharp paper. He instantly sucks the finger in his mouth, only absently realizing he’s already been through places since last washing it.

Well, at least the news is good. “So am I.”

 

*

 

Like last time, Charlie lets Missouri and Dean talk alone.

She brews tea and looks out the window while waiting for it to seep.

There’s a seriousness in the air, and unlike last time, Dean feels he needs to listen to every single bit of information Missouri gives him.

He almost tells her he’s sorry for not taking her seriously before, although to be honest, he doesn’t know what has changed since.

“Dean, what do you know about monsters?”

Dean sighs. “I know some are real. I’ve seen some in the castle, but they’re quickly sent away by our talented guards.”

Missouri nods. A cup of tea appears in front of Dean, and he doesn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t caramel.

“So you’re not too surprised by the sightings in the town.”

“As someone who witnessed them firsthand, nope.”

She takes a seat across Dean and gives him a long, calculating look. She’s obviously worried about him, and probably just wondering how much he will be able to take.

“I called you here because some more information of Jasper came to me last night. I’ve received some information about you after you left, too, but that isn’t unusual. Sometimes my guides are slow and need a while to catch up with all the people that come and go through my door.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.

“Mostly, I don’t share the tidbits with people, because they can be vague and even untrue. Now that I had a vision of Jasper… I think I need to share all I know.”

“Whatever you think is best. I’ll be listening.”

“I don’t know what you think about psychics, but at least your mind seems to be more open than last time we met. Maybe you’ll indeed be listening.”

“Yeah. Sorry for that. I was a little… Confused at the time.”

“And now, you’re not?”

“Now, it’s becoming the status quo.”

“Right,” Missouri says. She sighs, looks at her hands for a while, and starts talking. “So, first of all, I told you the person you’re looking for doesn’t exist. I could’ve phrased that better then, but it was hazy. I thought it was because you were looking for the prince as he was all those years ago, and time has changed him. That much is true. He’s not the same person anymore. Yet, last night I learned another thing. He’s, in fact, quite the Schrödinger. He’s passed away years ago, and I still get this _alive_ energy from him.”

Dean squints, trying to understand. “What does that mean? He’s a ghost or something?”

“Either that, or,” Missouri exhales slowly, looking around for help with her upcoming explanation. “Imagine if you were an egg.”

“An egg,” Dean says dryly.

“Yes, much like Humpty Dumpty. Now, you probably know how the story goes. He falls. He breaks. Nothing can fix him. Now, imagine a safety net. A large net that fits the egg perfectly. Imagine being this egg, and falling into a net crafted for you to not fall to the ground.”

“No omelette for us today, then?”

“This net is made of a sturdy material, but it’s wearing thinner all the time. The egg is now stuck in the net, unable to get back up or fall down, and the edges of the plexus are fraying. It’s a good thing, the net, because it keeps the egg from breaking, but it’s not going to last forever.”

“I guess in your wonderful net of metaphor, Jasper is the egg.”

“Indeed. It could be that someone kept him from avoiding certain death, but he’s now running to the end of his maze. He’s got the life force, but it’s not going to last for much longer.”

Dean huffs out a breath. “I’d better get cracking on finding him, then.”

Missouri tilts her head gently. “And do what, exactly? The fall has already begun for him. You can’t fix the net, you’re not a witch. It’s likely not even the witch can fix it, maybe they don’t know it’s breaking soon. All you could do is somehow place yourself under him when he falls, but that would probably kill you.”

“Shit,” Dean says, wiping his face with a hand. “And you’re sure about this?”

“It’s what was told to me.”

Dean thinks back to what happened at the circus, and thinks about how ominously it fits that someone just fell to their death. Things seem to be getting serious in town, and if Jasper’s still around, it’s only a matter of time before he’s the one to fall.

“Okay. So, what did you learn about me?”

“That you’re moving,” Missouri says, frowning again. “No imagery this time. Your soul is shaking. Do you have anxiety?”

Dean nods, lowering his gaze. “I don’t like to talk about it. It’s not like I can change the past.”

“Of course not. But anxiety is good. It keeps you on your feet. You’ll keep changing, and you’ll keep growing. Maybe you hold keys you don’t even know existed.”

“I wish,” he sighs. “Mostly, I just try to make it through.”

“You don’t have to just survive anymore, though, right? It’s not like your father has any hold of you behind the border of death.”

Dean blinks. He hasn’t told Missouri about his dad’s death. “How do you know he passed?”

A wistful look crosses her eyes, and that’s all Dean needs to see to know what’s happened — Missouri’s actually heard something from her guides. He grinds his teeth.

“What have you heard?”

“It’s not important,” Missouri says a little too fast for it to have been anything good, “what matters it that you’ve grown since he left you. You’re stronger. You might still need guidance in places, but you’re getting there.”

When did this turn into some kind of a consoling session?

Silence ticks on for a solid minute.

“What should I do now?”

“I think you should keep doing what you do. It seems to be working for you now.” Missouri leans forward and pats Dean’s idle hand on the tabletop. “As long as you remember to breathe, you’ll be where you need to be, when you need to be. Everything is intertwining towards the ending you deserve.”

Dean inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth, and nods. “Thank you.”

“Stay safe, now. There’s a lot of dangerous entities out there to get you and yours.”

“Any more vague predictions to give me before I go?” He mostly asks it to ease the tension, but Missouri’s face is already serious again.

“First of all, not all safety nets are physical. It’s true that not all people are meant to be together, but it doesn’t mean all people are incompatible. While some people arrive alone, not everyone does. And last, but not least, Dean — let it all go.”

 

It’s raining when they leave Missouri’s place. Charlie keeps trying to cheer Dean up, failing miserably, and when she gets a call from Gilda, she uses the opportunity to make herself scarce. Then Dean’s alone, soaking wet, confused, miserable, and feeling he can’t do anything right.

He tries not to think about how Missouri has heard of John. He’s not sure how these visions of her work, but it’s possible that John has fucking apparated in front of her, told her that Dean is a piece of shit that could never do anything right and that Missouri would be better off without being in any touch with a loser like him. He’s probably sitting on some damn cloud of saints right now and laughing because Dean fails in yet another task in his life; finding Jasper before he dies.

Yeah, because that’s probably happening, too. Jasper is being held safe by someone who’s probably a witch, and their power is running out. Dean can do nothing to keep that from happening, and he might not even get to the prince in time… Which means he’ll have failed in another mission in his life, he’ll probably have no home to return to, and Sam will never get his university over and done with. There’ll be two failed Winchester sons in the family, which will be another thing for John to vent about.

His glassblowing sucks, too, because if it didn’t, Rufus would’ve used something else than _nice_ to describe the sculpture. Dean’s good for absolutely nothing.

He doesn’t want to go home.

 

There’s a diner on the east side of town that would serve burgers if it was open. Dean takes a seat on one of the benches outside and without anything better to do, he digs out his soaking wet phone. Surprisingly, it’s still running, and after a couple of quick sweeps against his wet shirt, he caves in and sends Castiel a message.

_Hey, how’s it going?_

A car turns to the yard, slowing down while passing Dean to see if he needs help, probably. He waves in a way he hopes implies he’s good even though he’s sitting in a monsoon and returns to his screen. He sees Castiel come online to their instant messaging conversation, see the message, and leave. He exhales sharply through his nose to keep the hurt from engulfing him, and waits for a solid ten minutes before shooting another message.

_Look, I get if you have regrets about us, and I don’t blame you either, you know?_

_But it would be nice of you to at least tell me what’s going on before you ghost me_

_Right. That wouldn’t be ghosting, then_

_As you were_

He’s well aware his tone gets bitter towards the end, and he doesn’t even care — or wouldn’t, if his phone didn’t ring a couple of seconds after.

Castiel’s calling, and Dean thinks through the messages he sent, and shit, he’s the most childish person to ever have walked the earth.

“Yeah.”

Damn, he sounds hoarse even to his own ears.

“Dean,” Castiel says. His voice is deep from either sleep or lack of use, and there’s the unmistakable sound of a blanket shuffling. “I’m not ghosting you.”

“I want to believe that,” Dean says honestly. Apparently, honest is the only way he knows how to act with Castiel. It’s nice. “But you went missing. I understand it’s shit but —”

“Would you like to come over?” Castiel stops Dean mid-sentence, and if he said anything else, Dean would be pissed that he did. “I’m at the treehouse now. I’ve wanted to be alone but I think I would like your company.”

“Yeah. That sounds nice. I’m at a… I don’t know what this diner is called, I just know it has burgers. It might take me a while to get there because I’ve got no memory of where we trudged at night.”

“Are you at Dino’s or at Vyv’s?”

Dean looks around, taking in the sign. “Uh, Dino’s.”

“Great. Give me ten minutes to get dressed, and five more to drive there. I just woke up from a nap.”

“You don’t have to do that. Just give me instructions.”

“No, it’ll be good. We can go grocery shopping together, I could use the distraction.”

Dean hums. “Sounds good. Sorry again for being so dramatic.”

“No, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have… Well. Let’s talk about this when we meet.”

“Fifteen minutes. See you.”

After ending the call, Dean realized just how pathetic he’s going to look sitting in the rain. Shit, that’s embarrassing.

 

 *

 

Shock passes Castiel’s features as he sees the state Dean’s in. He steps out of his sensible white hybrid and opens a damn umbrella before coming over.

So much for embarrassing, this is outright mortifying.

“Dean,” he says. God, he’s handsome. God, he sounds good. Dean wants to wrap his cold arms around him and never let go. “You’re…”

“Soaking. I know.”

“I thought you’d be inside.”

“Oh,” he says dryly, “I guess I forgot to mention that.”

“I’m sorry, I — Please, get in the car. Your lips are blue.”

“And here I was about to suggest a walk,” Dean mutters and gets on his feet. It’s hard to even pretend to be pissed when the second he walks up to Castiel, a tan trench coat is tossed around his shoulders.

“Come in. I’ve got a seat warmer.”

Dean nods, unable to make a sound, and lets Castiel open the door for him before slumping down on the seat. Castiel circles the car and steps back in after a quick shake of his umbrella.

He looks even better without the coat. He’s wearing a damn _hoodie_. Dean presses the button of the seat warmer, instantly feeling artificial heat clawing its way through his clothes and frozen skin.

“I think we need to rethink that grocery shopping,” Castiel says. He's keeping his eyes on the road which feels a lot better than being scrutinized at the state he's in. Dean knows he's going to feel grateful in a minute or two, but just like feeling sorry with Charlie, he's not there yet.

“I mean, I'm warm now. If you keep the car running and make a quick run for it, I might survive.”

Castiel frowns, but does eventually nod. “I'll be quick. This wouldn't be important if I had something back at the house, but the state being what it is, I only have liquor in there.”

“It's okay. I can… catch up with friends in the meantime.”

For emphasis, Dean lifts up his phone. It gives a confused blink before shutting down. Castiel, of course, doesn't miss that.

“Is there anyone you need to call? You can borrow my phone.”

Right now, the person he'd most want to call is Jacques. He'd like to tell him all of this is ridiculous and he wants to call it a day and disappear somewhere — in all honesty, that treehouse doesn't seem like too bad of a location to spend the rest of your life in.

He should probably call Charlie, though. Tell her he's alright even though his phone might now die for good. But with no device to check the number from, it's hard to do that either.

“No,” he eventually says. “Nobody to call.”

 

Castiel makes good on his promise to be fast, and in what feels like three fuzzy minutes in warmth of the car, he's back with two bags of groceries.

The drive back to the treehouse is quiet. Dean doesn't know if he should make conversation, be angry at Castiel for not trying to make conversation, or whether he actually should be excited to be taken back to Castiel's place. He's not sure if he's good for anything because of his he state he's in, but he's also aware that with food and a shower, he'll be born again.

The mood of the treehouse is completely different without all the people. It's cozy, smells of fresh wood, and makes Dean feel like he should grow a beard and live off the land.

Castiel drops the groceries on the upstairs kitchen counter and walks back to Dean. Hesitantly, he places his hand on Dean's shoulder. Warmth spreads down his arm and he wiggles his fingers.

“If I'll fix us something to eat, will you take a shower?”

Dean nods. “Which way?”

Castiel gestures him back downstairs and in through one of the doors Dean was probably hiding next to back when they played a murder game.

Feels kind of eerie now.

“Use whatever you want,” Castiel says, gesturing at the soaps and shampoos placed on the dark-tiled niche in the wall. “And take as long as you need to warm up. Most of the water you’re using is solar-powered, and I’ve made sustainable solutions around the house so our footprints won’t tip over just because we shower.”

Dean simply nods. He starts peeling his outer layer off before realizing there’s nothing for him to replace them with. Helplessly, he lifts his still-dripping plaid shirt. “Uh, not gonna be able to use these in a while.”

“Right. I’ll leave you something outside the door. Take a towel from the cabinet there. Any preferences for dinner?”

“Anything’s fine as long as I don’t have to cook tonight,” Dean says. Castiel huffs gently and turns to leave, but hesitates with his one hand on the doorknob.

“Dean, is this too much? My intention is to help you out, not coddle or patronize you.”

Dean snorts. “Wow, well. Didn’t even consider that a possibility until now. Are you doing this so you can make me feel inferior and possibly take advantage of me later?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

“In that case, no worries. I’m not beyond people helping me out when I’ve had a shitty day.”

Dean sees Castiel’s smile even when he’s still half-turned away. “Okay. Thank you, Dean.”

 

When Dean runs the water hot and lets it carry away all of the pain in his frozen joints, he thinks briefly about Castiel’s words. He’s gone above and beyond to prove to Dean that even though he wants to hide certain things about his past, he’s not up to anything that could be considered iffy. It’s reassuring, and Dean likes it, but does it mean that at some point Castiel’s been with someone who didn’t see his actions as he intended them? That would explain his need to clarify his intentions.

As Dean warms up, he’s overcome with new determination to prove to Castiel that he’s not going to be unfair. He’s had his fair share of people assuming his intentions before, and he doesn’t want to project that to someone else — especially since Castiel has done nothing to make Dean trust him less. In addition, he’s off to a good start with speaking his mind and telling the truth. He wants to keep that up.

With new anticipation of what might happen tonight, he steps out of the shower.

 

 *

 

They eat.

Castiel has made risotto, which would look way too vegetabley for Dean’s usual tastes if it didn’t have these wonderful, large, juicy pieces of chicken in it. Castiel asks Dean how his days have passed, and he’s almost too proud to say he’s been mostly sulking — but that wouldn’t exactly work with his new resolution of keeping it real. Luckily, Castiel takes it with just the right amount of mirth, keeping it from sounding too serious sooner than Dean would prefer.

In return, Castiel talks about how he’s handled the week. They’ve held a meeting about the incident, but since they don’t really know what happened, they don’t know how to deal with it, either. Castiel doesn’t share any theories, just mentions a couple have been flying around. It makes sense, since this happened on their turf. Besides, it’s not like Dean is able to help.

As the conversation slows down and makes way for a soft silence, Dean wonders if he should tell Castiel everything. Tell him why he’s truly in town, what his real mission is, how much is at stake — hell, even what Missouri told him. She obviously knows about the circus incident anyway, so maybe this information Dean’s holding now could help the circus people out.

Something keeps him from speaking his mind, though. Maybe it’s the way Castiel’s shoulders relax the longer they spend together, or maybe it’s the way something unclenches inside of Dean while he’s here. It’s just the two of them, no pretenses.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean he’s completely free from his thoughts of inadequacy. When they end up on the couch, talking about the wonders of the artisan district, Dean remembers Rufus and how shitty he felt about his own work just because someone didn’t bother using superlatives.

Before his mind can spin into another round of thoughts about what John could’ve possibly told Missouri, or how he’s already let Sam, Charlie, and probably the King down, he excuses himself and goes to check on his phone. It still refuses to respond to soft resetting, so he groans and lets it fall on the coffee table.

_I can do nothing right._

The realization is overwhelming, and Dean lays his head on the table next to his phone. He knows it’s just the day he’s having, but anxiety doesn’t care; his thoughts are gathering into a giant ball inside of him, all of them reminding him he’s not good enough for anyone, his actions are worthless no matter how hard he tries, so why is he even trying?

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice gentle. “Which one of us is the hard thinker?”

Dean huffs. “You.”

“Yet I can almost hear your head racing. Come here.”

Dean lifts his head and sees Castiel extend an arm on the couch. He’s actually asking him to cuddle. Instead of pretending this isn’t exactly what he wants, Dean just goes with it; gets up, flops next to Castiel, leans against him. Castiel’s arm wraps around his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Want to watch a movie, then?”

He nods, selfishly pressing himself closer. Castiel hums in a way that could be mistaken for pleased.

 

Dean awakens when Castiel tries to wiggle away from under him. All of him feels warm and relaxed, his nervous system rebooted from a solid… three hours’ sleep against Castiel.

He should be embarrassed, but instead he’s thankful.

He watches Castiel walk up to his own phone and sigh. He types something, his fingers impossibly fast on the keyboard — that explains the speed with which he answers — and runs his hand through his hair. He then looks at Dean, who isn’t fast enough to pretend he’s still sleeping.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to nap. Is everything alright?”

He nods, looking back at his phone. “I’ll tell you soon. First, I want to go over something I was thinking while you slept.”

“Didn’t you sleep?”

Castiel at least has the decency to look abashed. “No, I didn’t.”

Dean sits up. “Okay. What do you want to go over?”

“I want to apologize to you for disappearing. I was encouraged to not keep in touch with you, but that shouldn’t automatically mean I obey.”

“I should’ve guessed, to be honest. The ringmistress had a real bone to pick with me.”

“Rowena’s protective. Still doesn’t mean I need to obey her. I’m sorry for making you feel you’re not worth my time.”

“I’ll take it,” Dean says, an extra bit of warmth seeping into his bones. “Now, what’s up with your serious phone face?”

“Lisa’s planning to leave the circus. I… She says she’s not sure yet, but she can’t get over what happened. We haven’t even figured out if this is a thing that explicitly happens inside the circus, because I’ve been seeing some of those creatures out in town, too. Yet, she’s at the end of her tether.”

“Oh, shit,” Dean mumbles. “That sucks. I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel looks out the window, humming.

“At least this is not a full-blown crisis I’m handling here now. Besides, it’s not like I’m unhappy if she leaves. These things happen. It just seems like everything is spiraling out of control. I can’t control people, nor do I want to. Still, sometimes I wish I had some control over something, anything in my life.”

Dean’s brain screeches to a halt at the end of this sentence. He scans through his post-shower, post-meal, post-sleep body and gathers he’s feeling decent right now; of course, his problems haven’t vanished but when do they ever?

Besides, this could be a chance to do something _right_.

He bites his lip, pretending to concentrate even though he’s already made this decision. He works half on instinct, half on the fact that his whole brain wants this, requires this, needs this.

Walking to the middle of the floor, calmly, Dean kneels.

 

 


	10. Les anges partirent avant

It takes Castiel a while to notice, but when he does, he places the phone down and takes a step forward.

Dean holds his gaze, unblinking.

“Dean?” Castiel asks. His voice is serious, darker now.

The silence that follows after is overwhelming.

“Yes, Castiel?”

“You’re… there.”

“You need something to control.”

Castiel squints, tilts his head. Bites his lip. Shakes his head gently, not as a no but as a way to clear his head.

“I would never ask you to do this just because I need it.”

Dean tries to keep his smile internal. He guessed right — Castiel needs this.

“It’s not just that,” he says. Frowning, he lowers his gaze. “I’ve felt like shit today. I’ve felt like I’m a bad person.”

Castiel walks up to him and gently touches his jaw in an encouraging motion to lift his gaze again. “And why does that make you want to do this now?”

Dean blinks and swallows. “I want someone to tell me what to do, so I don’t have to guess what’s right and what’s wrong. I want to feel like I’m meeting someone’s expectations and doing — being — good.”

Castiel’s hand is still against his jaw. The touch is magnetic and Dean can’t help but lean towards it, rubbing his cheek against Castiel’s palm.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Dean,” Castiel says. “We will do a scene. I will tie you up, worship your body with my hands and my fingers, really take my time with you. I won’t go easy on you, but tonight, I want you to know that as long as you’re doing what you’re told, you’re good. You don’t need to worry about not moving enough, not touching me enough, or not making enough sound. I will tell you what I want from you, but besides that, you can do whatever feels good for you. There’s one condition, though; under no circumstances are you allowed to talk back at me, or tell me to fuck off, or be rude. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Dean says, his voice already thick with lust. Fuck, he was just feeling like shit on the couch, how in the world is he now on his knees, preparing for an actual scene with Castiel?

It’s exhilarating, but just as he lets himself plunge into fantasies about the upcoming hours, a sharp tug of his hair pulls him back into the present.

“Good boy,” Castiel says, his voice rendered to the deepest tone only slightly above a whisper, “well done.”

Dean whimpers, a sound he probably should be ashamed of, and tries to lift his head up for a kiss. Castiel indulges him, crashing their lips together and immediately licking his way into Dean’s mouth. He tastes of risotto and warmth, and Dean only barely manages to keep himself on his knees instead of falling backwards on the ground and pulling Castiel along with him. Just as he realizes how hard he’s getting just from their talk and a particularly filthy kiss, Castiel breaks it.

“We’re only using items from your enthusiastic yes list today. Is there anything on it you don’t want to do?”

Castiel waits for Dean to gather his already scattered thoughts. “No. Still an enthusiastic yes to all of them.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes. Also, safeword. Do you have a safeword?”

Dean holds his tongue for a minute, pretending he totally hadn’t already picked one the second Castiel first said he wants to do this. “Yes. It’s _mercury_.”

Castiel hums. “Good. Your use of safeword will never be punished. If you use it, we’ll stop what we’re doing, and I’ll give you enough space so you don’t feel smothered by me touching you. I can try to read the situation, but you can give me pointers — that is unless you’re beyond giving pointers, in which case I just do what I seem is necessary for you. Is this alright?”

“Of course,” Dean says. “I trust you, Cas.”

“From this moment on until the end of the scene, you’re going to call me Castiel or sir — or both, if that suits your fancy.”

“Right, sir.”

Castiel nods. “Good boy. Now, I’ll shut down my phone and bring you a glass of water. Do you need to use the bathroom before we start?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Castiel nods again and walks back into the kitchen, where his phone has still been buzzing. Without giving it another glance, he presses the button until the device shuts down. Dean bites his lip and follows Castiel’s graceful movement in the kitchen, and suddenly, he remembers a thing he should probably say.

“Castiel,” he nods towards the pile of wet clothes he left on the railing, “my STI results came in today. They’re in the front pocket of my shirt.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows and follows Dean’s second nod to the shirt. He digs up the envelope and skims over the results, surprisingly not breaking the dampened paper.

“Well, this is certainly nice,” he says, looking pointedly back at Dean and shamelessly lowering his gaze to his hardened cock that’s tenting through the college pants, “I’ve really been wanting to taste you.”

Dean clears his throat, lowering his gaze to hide his blush.

“That begs the question about my results, though,” Castiel says, suddenly walking up to the bookshelf and picking up a laptop. Dean’s about to feel an unfair sense of neglect, but then Castiel takes a seat on the couch, places the laptop on the armrest and pats his thigh. “Come here, Dean.”

Dean stands up, his knees aching just a little but getting better during the couple of steps to Castiel, and straddles both of Castiel’s thighs. Castiel looks up at him in awe — this probably wasn’t what he had in mind but hey, he didn’t specify — and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist before focusing on the screen.

It takes a while for Castiel to log in to his healthcare provider account, and it’s partly because Dean places his head on Castiel’s shoulder in a way that allows him to brush his lips over the soft skin on Castiel’s neck. He smells of something incredibly sweet, probably a patchouli-based soap, and it makes Dean’s head spin to realize he’s here, they’re here, they’re getting this together right now.

He feels safe like never before.

 

*

 

Somehow, their checking Castiel’s STI results turns into a heavy makeout session. Dean’s still straddled on Castiel’s lap, Castiel’s hands are placed on Dean’s back and his palms are wide and warm. They grind slowly against each other, each brush of their erections eliciting a gasp or a moan between their lips. There’s heat, but it’s not immediate; they are just letting this moment get away from them, sinking into the feeling of slow, deep kisses and possessive brushes of tongues, and Dean can feel his sanity leave his body.

This feels too nice. Too comfortable. _Too intimate._

His whole little crush thing isn’t turning out well.

Maybe that’s the reason he eventually grinds harder, pushes himself fully against Castiel and slowly rolls his hips. Castiel groans, louder than before, and pushes Dean at an arm’s length.

“Okay,” he says, heady if his voice is anything to judge by and god Dean loves it, “since we’re both clean and all, let me show you my bedroom.”

Dean grins and hops away, only realizing afterwards that he’s dizzy. His blood isn’t running, it’s gushing around his toes, his cock, his cheeks, and together with the beating of his heart, his body feels foreign. It’s a feeling that makes him a little anxious, but when Castiel reaches out his hand for Dean to take, he takes a steadying breath.

He can do this.

More than that… He really _wants_ to do this.

Castiel’s bedroom is laden with soft lavender-tinted blues, dark plum, and like in the other rooms, log walls. It’s just as gentle as the other rooms, but suddenly, Castiel is not; he places a rough kiss that misses Dean’s mouth a little — god, why does that even feel this good — and turns them around so he can push Dean onto bed. He goes easily, bouncing a little, and he gives Castiel a smirk.

“Take off your shirt, please,” Castiel murmurs, “I’ll get something I can tie you up with.”

Dean flinches at the strength of arousal deep in his belly before doing as he’s told. Castiel digs up a smooth-looking scarlet rope from the drawer next to the window with a view to the deep woods, and when he turns back to face Dean, his gaze is nothing short of stunning. His eyes travel up and down Dean’s skin, worshiping each inch and freckle, and Dean can see the second he realizes looking isn’t going to be enough to satisfy his urge. He scoots up on the bed and kisses each of Dean’s wrists when he automatically lifts his arms above his head.

“I’m only going with a single column tie, here,” he explains as if Dean understands terminology, “it’s very simple, and very easy to open if needed. Are you okay if I tie your hands against this?”

He taps the ornate metal headboard of the bed. Dean nods.

“First thing I’m going to need from you, Dean, is that you use your words. When you’re balls deep in my throat or I’m rimming you ‘till tomorrow, I’m not going to be able to see you nod.”

“Alright. Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Do you want me to tie you up?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

Castiel gives him a soft glance and a kiss on his forehead before moving up to single-column-tie his hands. He’s done in a second, and Dean wiggles his fingers to feel out any discomfort.

“Does it feel alright? Not too tight, not too loose, not like your fingers start falling off in a minute or two?”

“It’s good, Castiel, thank you,” Dean says, his voice low. Castiel gives his forehead another kiss and mutters _good boy_ before he hoists himself up so he can twirl around and straddle Dean’s hips. His palms are instantly on Dean’s skin, touching, caressing, mapping him out — Dean shivers at the touch of warm skin on his arms, armpits, sides and all the way down to his hips. He wiggles his toes happily, letting Castiel scrutinize him all he wants. The gaze on Castiel’s eyes is intense, admiring, and dangerously close to how Dean must be watching him because he has a crush, so he just closes his eyes and focuses on the tactile aspects of the moment.

By the time Castiel moves his fingertips on Dean’s both nipples, they’re hard already — it was the last brush of Castiel running the tips of his fingernails over his sides that did them in. Dean manages out a gasp, and for a second, he’s confused about what he should do. Is he allowed to buck up his hips? Is he allowed to moan?

“I want you to concentrate on how it feels when I touch you,” Castiel says, and Dean huffs because seriously he’s going to need to tell Dean soon that he can actually read minds so they can get over this need for Dean to talk. His voice tunes Dean in, however — it’s deep, rich like honey, and so soft no person in the universe could be deserving of such gentleness. “And by that, I mean that you focus on my touch. I don’t need you to come. I don’t need you to tell me how good this makes you feel, as long as you let yourself feel it. You are allowed to do both, but that’s not the reason I’m touching you. I want you to focus on how me touching you makes you feel, and not how close you are to release. Can you do that for me, Dean?”

He clears his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Castiel says, his voice giving away the smile Dean doesn’t see right now. “Now, I’m going to take your pants off.”

Dean opens his eyes and watches Castiel strip away the rest of his clothes. He feels a little naked because he’s — well, naked, and Castiel is still fully dressed, but all he needs to do is to give Castiel’s shirt a glance and he gets the idea. Not making a big deal out of himself stripping, Castiel simply rids himself of all his clothing and slides back onto the bed, this time straddling Dean’s legs. The feeling of skin against skin is enough to make Dean hum gratefully, and his eyes fall shut again of their own volition.

Castiel gives the same affection to Dean’s legs as he did to his upper body, and apparently, that’s just what he planned to do with his fingers — soon enough, his lips and the tip of his tongue travel across Dean’s thighs, up to his general groin area, and up to his hipbone where he, for the first time tonight, bites. There’s a low humming in all of Dean’s body, and when Castiel’s teeth close around his skin, it’s enough to send pain-pleasure sparkles up his side and across his stomach. His hips buck up at the sensation, and he’s frustrated to not feel anything against his cock _right now_ before realizing it’s not about the destination, it’s about the —

Another bite, followed by hard sucking and oh fuck, he’s going to have bite marks on his hip bones and he’s going to feel well fucked out tomorrow and a whimper escapes him when he realizes he’s already yearning for more, wishing for more of this, hoping to never have to leave this treehouse again.

His thoughts are quickly replaced by lips around his nipple Castiel licks his skin with a broad tongue like he can’t get enough, then flicks at the nipple with the tip, and Dean throws his head back because it’s too much and also not enough, no way, never enough. He automatically tries to put his fingers in Castiel’s hair, which obviously ends with him remembering he’s tied up. He whimpers again because holy shit, he’s tied to Castiel’s bed and about to come apart by someone just touching his nipples, but of course it’s not someone, it’s Castiel who’s way too hot to begin with…

“Dean,” Castiel says, and judging by his voice, this is not the first time he calls for him. Dean opens his eyes wide to help him float back to earth and huffs a breath before meeting Castiel’s eyes. There’s pure, unadulterated lust in there, but also an undertone of worry. “How are we?”

“It feels awesome, sir,” Dean mumbles. “I’m sorry, I got a little lost in how awesome.”

Castiel smiles gently and places a solid kiss on Dean’s lips. “We’re going to wrench those sorry’s out of your arsenal soon enough. For now, I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Yet I do,” Castiel says with a wry smile. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, Dean. So hot, so stunning laid out like this. Can’t believe I get to see you like this… And do you like this. You’re such a good boy, Dean.”

Dean hums happily, already starting to float again by the sheer power of Castiel’s words.

“Now, I want you to turn around. You should be able to do that with ease.”

Castiel lifts himself on his knees and Dean manages a turn under him. Castiel lays himself on top of Dean, and for a moment, they stay still in each other’s warmth and closeness. Then Castiel kisses Dean’s neck and gives it a gentle bite — not enough to bruise this time — and starts running his fingertips on Dean’s back. He makes intricate swirling patterns on his skin, as if he’s painting some secret masterpiece or writing a lazy message, and Dean lets it all in with delighted sighs. There’s no muscle in his body that isn’t relaxed, and no cell in his brain that’s insecure or feeling like he isn’t respected.

Who knew sex could feel like this.

When Dean’s pretty much drooling against the soft pillow under his cheek, Castiel places both of his hands on Dean’s hips. He kisses and bites his lower back and the sensitive skin of his ass, and when his tongue travels along the cleft of his ass, Dean’s back arches. Of pleasure, of dread, of what if he smells like shit and tastes even worse —

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is there again, and Dean latches onto it like he’s drowning. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to. I want to taste you, and by that I mean _all_ of you, but if that’s something you’re not comfortable with, I’m very pleased to turn you back around and suck you.”

“No, it’s —” Dean gasps, “It’s not that I don’t want it. What if I’m all gross?”

Castiel runs his hands up and down Dean’s back. “Listen to me, my sweet boy. I know what I’m doing. It’s not like I live in denial and think you’ve hidden a gemstone in there.”

Dean barks out a laugh that’s absolutely hideous. “But what if I did? What if you ruined the surprise now?”

“I’m more than pleased to take my chances,” Castiel says, his voice amused but not mocking. His hands are still roaming on his back, rather idly now, and Dean lets out a relaxing sigh.

“Definitely not against it,” he eventually says. Castiel hums.

“Do you want me to rim you?”

“Yes, please, Castiel.” The explicit answer comes from him automatically, a lot easier than he would have thought. Right now, he’s pleased as fuck that Castiel demands it from him.

“Good boy,” his praise washes over Dean, relaxing him impossibly further. He lets Castiel maneuver him so he’s sitting wide on his knees, his upper body still flat against the mattress, and after giving Castiel an OK with how it feels, he’s told to relax once more.

Castiel’s tongue travels along the muscle of his ass before dipping back into the cleft. He fucking moans against Dean’s skin when he gets lower, and when he first swirls his tongue over Dean’s hole, Dean absolutely loses it. He tries to push back but Castiel’s been clever; although he’s only tied by his hands, there’s not a lot of wiggle room. He groans in frustration, but when Castiel determinedly hardens his tongue and pushes it in a little, all his protests are forgotten. His eyes roll back at the intensity of the seemingly small touch, and Castiel keeps on sinking deeper and fucking nibbles at the rim with his lips, and Dean’s not sure if he’s going to come in a second or possibly never, and he doesn’t mind either. This is the essence of what Castiel tried to make him realize, and he’s proud of himself for a fleeting moment until his head feels like he’s underwater and he can’t think any longer.

Castiel apparently loves rimming him. He keeps on making these deep, filthy sounds and gasping against Dean’s skin, and Dean loves it — he can’t help but picture how Castiel must look like right now or, god forbid it, how he himself looks like, this completely given up all control of himself to someone else, getting rimmed with abandon, tied up —

It sneaks up on him how close he is to coming, and Castiel notices it too — he pulls away, leaving his palm on Dean’s hip and sighing with what sounds like satisfaction.

“So good for me, Dean,” he mutters, “god, the things I could do to you.”

“Please,” Dean whines. He grinds against the mattress, incredibly grateful for the small amount of friction on his leaking cock. The movement is not lost on Castiel, who grips his hips tighter to keep him from moving.

“Please, what?”

“Please, fucking — I don’t, I don’t know,” Dean mumbles, all of his muscles shaking and his breath catching in his throat, “I need you.”

“What do you need from me?”

Dean groans, frustrated at the words that won’t come. “I — damn you, I —”

A sharp slap on his left buttock makes him gasp, and Castiel rubs the spot to make it more intense. “Dean, I will not have you speak like that to me. We agreed on that.”

“I’m — I’m sorry, sir. It just… came out without my better judgement.”

“You’re forgiven, my sweet boy. Now, let’s try this again. What do you need from me?”

Dean breathes for a couple of times and lets Castiel move his legs so they’re straight again. They feel a little tingly after being bent for so long, but while Castiel patiently waits for an answer, he massages them. It feels nice and helps him ease off from the edge of orgasm he was already nearing. However, the humming he’s felt since Castiel said he wishes he had control over someone has not subsided.

His cheek still feels hot from the single slap he received, and if he’s being honest with himself, he wants to keep on calling Castiel names so he’ll do it again. He wants to be spanked into tomorrow, he wants his hair pulled, he wants to be owned.

“Sir?” he says, his voice more hesitant than he feels. Castiel leans over him and licks the edge of his ear. Dean shivers under the touch.

“Yes, my dear?”

The endearment makes Dean’s stomach flip so hard it’s uncomfortable for a second. They talked about what words Castiel would use, but it still feels so painfully genuine Dean almost believes they’re in this for life. He distracts himself by wording out his desire.

“Just fucking take me.”

Castiel’s reaction is instant. His hand instantly grips Dean’s hair — he pulls it so he can speak to Dean’s ear. “Is that any way to talk to me?”

Dean whines before voice comes out. “I’m sorry, sir, I —”

“You know what,” Castiel proceeds. He somehow just flips Dean around like it’s no big deal, and their eyes meet for the first time in a while. Even though Castiel sounds agitated and his fingers dig into the flesh of Dean’s sides, his eyes are fond — wondrous, even, like he can’t believe he gets to have Dean just as much as Dean can’t believe he gets to have Castiel. “I will hear of this no more. The sounds you made when I was rimming you… Do you have any idea how much you’re turning me on with that mouth of yours?”

Dean bites his lip, blushing but refusing to look away. Castiel’s eyes follow the movement and then, Dean’s kissed with desperate abandon that takes all the air from his lungs and makes electricity spark all over him.

Instead of grabbing the lube like Dean expected he would, Castiel fetches another length of scarlet rope, this one longer. Speaking no more, he takes hold of Dean’s legs and brings them together. With astounding speed, his legs are tied together with ties that climb up his calves like a woven ladder. Only after that’s secured does Castiel get the lube, and he doesn’t take his time anymore — he lubes his fingers, kneels on the bed and lifts Dean’s legs up so they’re both leaning against Castiel’s right shoulder. Then, Castiel’s fingers brush his already tongue-fucked loose hole and Dean groans.

“What is it about you that makes me feel like this,” Castiel says against his ankle. They can still look at each other, but Dean’s finding it hard to keep his eyes open again — sensations are getting the best of him and if he doesn’t keep himself in line, he’s going to fucking cry. “I could watch you forever. I could —” a finger presses inside Dean and he’s way past the point of needing time to adjust, “touch you forever. I could keep you tied in here and fucking have my way with you until you’re all fucked out, come more than once, and too tired to even lift an arm.”

Dean’s next gasp is dangerously close to a sob. He faintly pulls against the restraints on his hands only to notice they’re still attached. Good. He never wants to leave this bed again.

“Oh, look at you,” Castiel croons, “so ready for me. So willing. So desperate for me to fuck you.”

Dean feels the next finger, and he loves the stretch enough to open his eyes and fix them on Castiel’s, hoping to somehow telepathically let him know how good this feels. Castiel’s gaze intensifies.

“Holy shit, you’re beautiful,” he says, and without a whole lot of two fingers, he adds a third. Dean’s eyes roll back again, this time so forcefully it hurts, and Castiel moans and sinks his teeth into Dean’s calf. Dean whimpers, absolutely out of his mind as Castiel’s fingers find his prostate — but he only gets a couple of good thrusts of fingers inside of him before they’re pulled out. His hole clenches at the loss, but he’s soon distracted because Castiel bends over him again, carefully bending him in half, and releases the tie from the headboard while still leaving Dean’s wrists tied. He’s then turned around again and pulled backwards on all fours so Castiel can stand.

There’s a hand in his hair again, and Castiel pulls Dean flush against himself. “What’s your safeword, boy?”

Dean hums, clears his throat. “Mercury.”

“Good boy.”

The feeling of Castiel’s cock on his rim makes him want to yell — and to be honest, he’s not sure if he does. Castiel keeps muttering words of praise under his breath, and half of them are lost on Dean, but half sneak up and wrap themselves around his heart deceitfully. When Castiel bottoms out, he knows he’ll never be the same again.

Castiel’s hand never leaves his hair, and as he starts pushing into Dean, his other hand curls against his hip. There’s probably going to be finger-shaped bruises in there tomorrow, and even though Dean’s already burning alive from being so turned on, the feeling keeps on getting deeper.

Shit, he’s not going to last for long.

Castiel fucks him hard, absolutely merciless, and keeps on hissing words like _mine_ and _beautiful_ from between his teeth, and now Dean’s sure he’s just letting sound out non-stop, just yelling or groaning his way through until his voice betrays him and he can’t continue. His hands are shaking under him and he knows he could bend down so only his ass is up, but he refuses to give in just yet — the angle is perfect for Castiel to keep hitting his prostate, making him near that edge of the hardest orgasm of his life, and he’s fucking going to come untouched like it’s not a big deal.

When his silenced moans turns into desperate gasps and there’s no muscle in his body that isn’t shaking like a leaf, Castiel pulls him up by his hair again. The pain is exquisite and returns Dean’s focus onto this plane of life for a second.

“I wonder,” Castiel mutters, “am I going to let you come?”

Dean swallows. His throat is sore. He leans his swaying body against Castiel and for a split second, there’s nothing but capital L love between them.

“You decide that, sir,” he eventually mumbles. Castiel grunts, the hottest sound known to mankind, and pushes Dean back to grip his hips with both of his hands. Dean fails to catch himself with his palms so he just flops down, ass up, and lets Castiel have his way which, not so secretly, is also his own way.

The second he realizes he’s going to come, it feels like a freight train is on its way to hit him. He draws in a deep breath, stutters while trying to get it out. His ears are already ringing because of too much oxygen, and Castiel notices he’s hyperventilating — and moves his hand down along Dean’s back to place it on the front of his neck. From this angle, he wouldn’t even be able to strangle him with intention, but it’s just enough to fast-forward Dean towards his release. It’s wildfire around his limbs and stomach, it’s too much all at once, it’s everything building up so he’s aching from the intensity, and he feels he’s going to come with body parts he didn’t know existed.

“I,” he sobs, “can’t —”

Castiel tightens his hold on Dean’s neck, holy fucking shit —

“I can’t fucking come this loud,” he finishes, using all energy he has left to form a sentence, and then his orgasm envelopes him, he can feel the individual nerve endings on his prostate clenching and collapsing, and his lungs just giving up with the whole oxygen thing, and his ears are still ringing as he flops down on his own come, completely, utterly spent.

 

 


	11. Et leurs visages tachés de blanc

Castiel straightens and looks at himself in the mirror.

His eyes are bright, cheeks are red and somehow, despite Dean being tied up the whole time, his hair is standing up in all directions.

He looks just as happy as he feels — just as content, as blessed, and as lucky. Shaking his head at his own sentimentality, he presses his face dry with a towel and creeps back into the bedroom.

Dean’s still laying under the blanket where Castiel gently tucked him after cleaning him up. His eyes are open, and he’s giving Castiel the worst stinkeye known to mankind. Castiel feels a swoop of guilt pass him, but he smiles nonetheless and sits at the edge of the bed.

“You left,” Dean says. “Can’t believe you fucking left.”

“I’m sorry. You seemed to be sleeping, so I just excused myself for a quick refreshment.”

“I was lonely,” Dean mutters, looking away. He’s seconds away from fully dropping, and Castiel wishes he knew Dean well enough to know what he needs.

“What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know. For starters, don’t fucking leave. Stay around. Hold me. Make me feel like I was even remotely worth it.”

Castiel’s heart clenches at the words, mostly because they couldn’t be much further from the truth, and he slides in next to Dean, taking him in his arms. Instead of turning his back and letting himself be spooned like Castiel assumed he’d do, Dean faces him for a second before tucking his head safely under Castiel’s jaw.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I just freaked when you weren’t here.”

“I get it, Dean,” Castiel whispers. He places a kiss on Dean’s hairline and hums. “And I want to indulge you, I do, but I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to tell you just how good you felt, and looked, and sounded, and were.”

Dean exhales with a whine and cuddles closer. Castiel tries to keep his heart from completely melting.

They lie in silence for a while. Castiel draws circles on Dean’s back — a thing he never knew he loved so much — and kisses the top of Dean’s head every now and then. After a while, Castiel notices Dean’s breathing has gone all calm and slow and he could very well be asleep by now. There’s no reason for Castiel not to sleep himself, but instead, he can’t stop thinking about what just happened. They did this, and it was perfect from the beginning to the second Dean couldn’t take it anymore and came hard enough to both make Castiel come immediately after and pretty much knocking himself out in the process. He responded to kind words and touches afterwards, too — a safety precaution Castiel always did to make sure his submissive is alright after a scene that bordered on rough. And Dean had smiled, laughed, and leaned into his touches…

He’s a fool.

He’s a fool with a severe infatuation for someone way out of his league. Soon enough, Dean will continue on his merry way and Castiel will be left behind.

Not the right time to get sulky, so instead, Castiel starts humming. He’s not much of a singer, but sometimes he likes to make noise; sometimes, he calms himself down with it and sometimes, there’s someone else. Sometimes, the songs are his own impromptu melodies, but right now, he hums Woodkid.

 

“Castiel,” Dean’s voice invades Castiel’s dream. “Cas.”

Castiel opens his eyes. Dean’s standing at the door, wearing his own clothes, and he’s got his phone in his hand. The sight is so painful that Castiel needs to clear his throat before he can form a word.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“I need to get going,” he says, lifting his phone. “Who knew it just needed to dry? I’ve got some business I need to take care of.”

Castiel needs to tell him not to go — sleeping together is in no way a sufficient amount of aftercare, especially after their first scene together. However, his heart is yelling at Dean to _please stay_ and it’s pathetic, and he should be rational about the whole thing.

“I don’t know if it’s a smart idea,” he eventually manages to say. “I would like to keep you around for today. Watch movies, order pizza. Take a bath together.”

Dean’s eyes soften at that, but he shakes his head. “I wish I could, man. I… This is just a big deal. I think we’re getting closer to this —”

He stops talking and it takes a while for Castiel to realize that this is a wall he himself has built. Dean doesn’t say anything because Castiel was the one who didn’t want to bring up the past.

He idly wonders if that’s something he could do now. _Hey, just so you know, I’m a prince. No, I’m not going to become a king ever. Want to cuddle now?_

Instead, he watches Dean wave awkwardly and listens to him leave.

Shit, this is far from ideal.

 

*

 

Rationally, Castiel knows that the feeling he’s experiencing is the Dominant equivalent of a subdrop — a domdrop, if you may.

It doesn’t make the feelings any more bearable. He doesn’t think he did anything wrong with Dean, and the fact that he had to leave had nothing to do with the time they had together, but not being able to care for his submissive in the way he wanted to acts as a catalyst for all the negative thoughts he’s kept at bay for a long time now.

It helps to watch some movies — he watches everything Netflix has to offer from _To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before_ to _Cam_ , and orders pizza because that’s what he had his heart set on when he didn’t know Dean was going to leave and it’s too late to turn back now. He showers, does laundry including the sheets, because clinging onto Dean’s smell on them is an act of true desperation. He keeps himself somewhat busy until he runs out of things to do at the treehouse. After that, he simply packs his food and returns to his first home upstairs from Pamela.

The evening turns into another day, and there’s no messages from Dean. It’s fine. This is the life he lives now; the life that’s best for him because he can’t control some aspects of his own personality. He’s true to his lifestyle by drinking his tea, re-reading _Metamorphosis_ , listening to Yann Tiersen, and planning new circus acts. He briefly considers sending his friends over at the circus a selfie to prove he’s not doing anything extravagant, but since they think he’s being their definition of good in the first place, any proving would be lost on them.

When the day turns into night and the night into another day and Dean hasn’t contacted him, he opens the windows and looks at the rain. It felt like just an hour ago when he picked Dean up from Dino’s, and he was soaked. Why did he have to be soaked? That’s another memory Castiel will hold onto for dear life. Wrapping a coat around him. Letting him stay in the car while he bought food.

He’s the most poetically pathetic person to ever have walked the earth.

 

Castiel’s midway through Norwegian short stories by Frode Grytten when there’s a knock on his door. His foolish heart immediately hopes it’s Dean — but Dean would be a normal person and send texts. Normal people give addresses when they ask a friend over. Normal people don’t think there’s a supernatural connection between them and their fuckbuddy when they’re holding onto each other, sweating, moaning each other’s names.

It’s just fucking. It’s never bad. It being good to the point of him seeing through time-space for a while doesn’t make their relationship supernatural.

With a defeated sigh, he walks to the door.

Pamela’s there.

“Hello, dear,” she says gently. Before even trying to come in, she tilts her head. “One of your kinetic sculptures is not on.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, gazing around to see that indeed, the man on the bicycle is not pedaling forward. “Well caught. Do you need something?”

“You’re thinking loud enough for me to be unable to take a nap. We should talk.”

Castiel groans. “Do we have to?”

“Of course. We’ll talk, or I’ll call Billie and say you’re thinking loud again.”

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel lets her in. Pamela immediately heads for the tea kettle, yelling _yay_! when it’s still hot after Castiel’s tea. Castiel turns the sculpture back on and lets it calm his nerves for a while before facing Pamela again.

“So, you know I’m thinking loud. Do you know what I’m thinking about?”

“There’s only one thing you think loud about, honey,” she says softly, “and that’s love. Are you in love?”

Before even letting himself give it thought, he answers. “No, I’m not.”

Pamela clicks her tongue. “Whatever you say. That’s beside the point, anyway. The problem is more that you’re troubled by it.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Castiel, I love you,” Pamela says softly. She sits down at the table and gestures to the seat across from her. “And recently, all I’ve got from you are snappy retorts and anger. We used to talk to each other, you know? I was able to tell you stories about my clients because I never promised them professional confidentiality, and you were able to tell me about the things you like, the beautiful boys you saw in the circus, and the friends you made along the way.”

Castiel sits down, bangs his head against the table, exhales long and heavy. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Pam.”

“It’s alright,” she says. “It’ll always be alright. I just wish you still talked to me.”

“I can try now.”

“Don’t feel obliged just because I confronted you about it, but if you want to try, I’m ready.”

Castiel sighs. “Well, you know what happened. You know how people became so obsessed with me hooking up with someone — or not hooking up more than once.”

“Of course. We were all in that intervention, honey.”

“You make it sound like I was doing drugs.”

“Isn’t love a drug?”

“It did feel like that at times. Anyway, after that we talked with the others about our non-romantic relationships as well. About how our individual destinies are linked to each other and how, despite the various ways we came here, we became a family.”

Pamela says nothing, just idly caresses the rim of her mug. 

“We tried to learn to not feel as strongly about each other in the group, too. To realize that people come and go. I mean, it was devastating to lose Ruby all those years ago — how she just smiled and left like it was no big deal, and like we know, if someone leaves the quantum lock, they’re not allowed to come back. It was a little easier with Rafael because we saw it coming. Well, all of this is a bit beside the point. We did get better; we learned to have fun as a group instead of constantly fussing over whether all of us are safe. Kind of how life should be, you know.”

He looks out the window, into the hopelessly gray rain.

“But when other people triumphed and felt happier than in ages, I just… I feel a part of me vanished. When I didn’t have strong feelings for my chosen family, I had nothing. When I couldn’t hook up with people the way I did before, I became resentful towards those who took the ability from me.”

“You do realize you agreed to it yourself, right?”

“Of course. It couldn’t have continued the way it did because if it had, I’d never have realized the person I so desperately wanted to be with was a fragment of my imagination. I needed to adjust my expectations and I did, splendidly so; I had a couple of one-night-stands only. The fact that they never fully satisfied me — I didn’t care about that. All I cared about was that at least I was being normal.”

Pamela’s hum is a little sad.

“Eventually, that craving for something subsided to this feeling I have right now. I’ve thought about it, and the closest word I can find is absence. There’s only absence. I don’t miss anything in particular, I just know life’s supposed to be more than monochromes. I don’t know if I can even love anymore. I’ve fucked myself up by trying to hinder it for so long. We did have long conversations with Billie during my therapy, and it helped me both cope with loss and try to learn what’s good for me. She drew me these rollercoaster graphs that depicted my feelings, and I knew it couldn’t continue like that. Still… Sometimes I wonder if it was the right thing to do.”

“You make it sound like it’s something that’s forever taken from you. You know you’re the only one with the keys to your happiness, right? So even if that means eventually turning back to feeling everything a little too loud, we all just want you to be happy.”

A wave of bitterness passes through Castiel at that. He’s not sure, but he wouldn’t want to question his friends, either.

“I don’t know. The highs and the lows are both there. I’m not sure I’d survive another low.”

 _But you’re already gone,_ his treacherous mind tells him. He shakes his head. He’s learned by now that his feelings betray him given the chance — he knows by now that whenever he thinks he’s falling fast and hard, it’s just the initial rush of dopamine that tells him he’s in love. The truth is something much more mundane.

 _Then why doesn’t it feel like it_ , he thinks, and rolls his eye at his own foolishness.

 

“You all know why we’re here,” Rowena says, “and I want to start with the meanest inquiry. Did any of you tell a stranger about your true identity?”

Everyone at the table is silent. It’s strange to see all of the cast and crew in same room — and it makes it feel that much worse to realize that Ember should still be here, too. Castiel tries to not think about how she looked straight at him before she fell; he still doesn’t know if that gaze was blaming him or asking for help. If he had to venture a guess, he’d go for the former.

“Someone must have told someone. The reason one of our own died is because the entities got in my yard, into my circus tent, and into my quantum lock. One of you has been blabbering.”

Lisa glances at Castiel, who challenges her with a look. _Are you going to blame me?_ She isn’t. The others seem to be well aware that the newest acquaintance to the group is Dean, and that Castiel is closest to him — but all they’ve got so far is gossip, and Castiel aims to keep it that way. It helps him realize that keeping Dean a secret from his friends is a good thing for two reasons: Keeping himself in tow with his feelings, and holding the blame for the breach off them both.

He’s not sure how Dean would take it, though. It’s now been two days with no calls or messages, and tomorrow, he’s going to take matters into his own hands. He thought Dean would contact him when he’s no longer busy, but apparently, he thought wrong. It’s entirely possible he’s having a subdrop-related meltdown at home, and it would be reckless of Castiel to not check up on him.

“Instead of blaming us, can you consider the possibility that someone just found out about one of us? There’s enough mystery to a circus without a quantum lock to interest strangers. If they started to just look into us first and only found fishy shit out later,” Balthazar suggests.

Kevin nods. “There’s a lot of regulars. Someone could be doing research about us.”

“Oh, many are,” Rowena says nonchalantly, “I consult Pamela regularly, and if something bigger came up, she would tell us.”

“Psychics are fallible,” Lisa says.

“Of course they are,” Rowena snaps, slapping her palm against the table. “What else do you have in mind? What else can we do to keep this from happening ever again? I’m holding you all in place with this lock, you in particular, my _Cherie_ , but apparently it’s not enough.”

She rarely shows emotion like this, and when she does, it’s usually either because she’s genuinely upset or because she wants to turn any suspecting eyes away from herself. Because it’s both impossible and pointless to find out which one this is, Castiel decides to just play along.

“And we’re all grateful for that,” he says. “I think we just all wish you didn’t start by implying one of us is to blame.”

“You’re right, it was really unfair of me,” Rowena says with a sigh. “It just takes all my strength to keep the lock in place, and sometimes I feel it’s still not going to be good enough.”

“Has something happened, then?” Meg asks.

“Someone killed themselves,” Balthazar snarls. “So hell yeah, something happened.”

“Mostly it’s just fear for my sweet children, but there are moments during which I feel my strength is dwindling,” Rowena all but sobs. Castiel frowns, considering her performance right now; she’s always kept all of her issues close to her chest, so why start talking now?

“Is there anything we can do?” Alicia asks. “I mean, you’re not the only witch in the house.”

“But I’m the most powerful,” Rowena says and Castiel briefly wonders if she mentions this only to hurt Alicia personally — they’re both pretty competitive. “And quantum lock is something none of you can master in the time I feel —”

Rowena gasps, places both of her palms on the table and raises her eyebrows. Kevin is sitting next to her, so he’s the one who reacts first; he places a hand on Rowena’s shoulder only to have it shoved away immediately. When Lisa and Balthazar both join Kevin in a bombardment of questions, Castiel’s briefly reminded of his childhood, where he was instantly attacked by ten servants the second he wasn’t feeling too well.

“Give her space,” he hears himself saying, “she can’t breathe.”

Everyone does step back, but it’s no use. Rowena straightens herself, takes a long inhale and falls backwards on the soft ground of the back room.

 

After the initial chaos is over, a couple of stage crew members -- one of whom is a nurse -- take Rowena to her accommodations. Nothing is sorted out and Castiel senses a lot of people are frustrated over that; however, as soon as Lisa and Max both suggest they take a couple of days off, everyone is instantly on board.

Maybe it’s good for Castiel, too, to get a little distance from the circus; Ember’s death is still fresh in his mind.

Still, he can’t stop thinking about how guilty Rowena looked just before passing out.

 

 *

 

Castiel wakes up to the sound of a text. It’s only been two hours since he fell into a restless sleep, but anyone texting at four a.m. must have something pretty urgent to say.

_Get your ass over here._

It’s from an unknown number, and Castiel has no idea where here is. Placing his fingers against his eyelids for a while, he tries to scrap any remnants of the nightmare he just woke from.

_Who’s this?_

_Charlie. Get your ass over to the mansion right now or I swear to god I’m gonna cut your buttcheeks off and roast em on a pan like a couple of tenderloins._

_Charlie. Nice to hear from you again._

_Chop chop, motherfucker_

Castiel tries not to smile, because it’s obvious there’s something serious going on. It’s the third night after they last met, and a couple of hours ago, Castiel did try to send Dean a message. He happily ignored it.

He stretches his feet on the way down the ladder from his loft, and quickly finds something to wear. On instinct, he grabs a bottle of massage oil and a deck of cards as well just in case it’s subdrop, and then he’s out.

The night is quiet and rainy, and Castiel makes good pace until he’s at the artisan district. There, he gets the feeling of being followed; footsteps echo from the walls of the narrow walkways, but he’s not sure all belong to himself. He looks behind him a good couple of times, finds nothing, tells himself there’s no reason for his heart so start pounding, and keeps on moving. His nerves don’t ease for longer than a couple of seconds at a time, though, and in a while he’s practically walking backwards.

It does pay off. Just as he’s about to turn the last corner that takes him to the bigger road, he sees a shadow — masculine, probably quite a bit shorter than him, but it’s there alright. Whoever this person is, they seem to sense that Castiel saw them; they stop moving, and when Castiel takes a step, they disappear into the shadows.

A chill runs down Castiel’s spine. Who could this person be? Is this someone who’s on to him, or his friends at the circus? Is this someone Castiel knows? The shadow didn’t look familiar, not from Castiel’s life or his visions before…But something tells him this is an important figure, someone that could very well be behind all that’s been going on.

Realizing this makes him nauseous, so he decides it’s better to continue. The trafficked road gives him a false sense of security, and he lets himself be carried away by it until he’s safely in front of Dean’s mansion. The garden has a thousand places that someone could hide in, and it offers Castiel both safety and fear. Now that the feeling of someone drilling the back of his head with a gaze is gone, though, he deems the night safe again.

 

Charlie’s the one who opens the door, and she instantly steps on Castiel’s toes.

“I hate you,” she hisses.

Castiel frowns, lifting his foot helplessly. “If I understood anything from Dean’s words a couple of days ago, it was you who ushered him away from me. Maybe it’s yourself you should be angry at.”

“I don’t even care at this point,” she sighs, and suddenly, her voice is defeated. “You know how hard it is to get words out of someone who doesn’t want to talk?”

“What doesn’t he want to talk about?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. We’ve been working on this project together and even though we’re this close to cracking it,” she gestures with her finger, it’s a centimeter, “he just watches _Breaking Bad_ and grunts. The most words I’ve gotten out of him was when he said he’s off to bed now.”

Castiel nods. Charlie opens her mouth to talk again, but after thinking better of it, snaps it shut.

“Where’s he now?”

“In the living room. _Breaking Bad_ is only on season 4 now. There’s still grunting left to do. Anyway, maybe it’s best you assess the situation. I mean, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure I know what’s bothering him.”

“Yes, it’s best for me to see what’s on his mind. Have you had any sleep?”

“Nada.”

“Then, go to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Charlie smiles a little joylessly, but it might be the exhaustion. “I’m sorry I grabbed him before you got through the whole, you know.”

“It sounded like an emergency. I think this was just a combination of unfortunate circumstances.”

“That might be it. Anyway, umm, there’s chips on the kitchen counter. You should take them along to appease the vengeful spirit.”

Castiel nods and waves Charlie a rather awkward goodbye. Then he rummages through the kitchen, trying to find as many food items as he possibly can and carries them into the living room.

Surprisingly enough, Dean’s fallen asleep on the couch. In the light of the television going through Walter White’s internal monologue about something money-related, he looks ethereal, peaceful — but also troubled. (He’s unfairly even more beautiful than Castiel remembered, and here he’d been thinking his mind has been painting an exaggerated image of Dean.) When Castiel puts the groceries down on the coffee table and looks back at Dean, his thoughts do an unfair little flip and go _I’m falling in love with this man_. It’s loud and clear as a bell, but Castiel gently presses it away. No matter how much he thinks nothing this clear can be fake, it’s still wrong.

He waits for Dean to wake up on the chair next to the couch, unwilling to push himself too close if his presence is not welcome. He’s on shaky ground as it is — Dean didn’t ask him to come here, and he probably wouldn’t have allowed Charlie to text him either; still, he feels more worry envelop him as he thinks of the possibility of Dean suffering through his subdrop alone.


	12. Si l’on me perd, sache que je serai la tienne

Dean awakens with a jolt. His eyes travel from Castiel’s offerings to the TV, and finally to Castiel, who eventually took a book in his hands, put on a dim light, and curled up on his chair.

For a second, Dean’s too sleepy to hate Castiel for being here. There’s a glint of fondness in his eyes, but then, he hardens his gaze and looks at the television. It’s been a while since Netflix stopped auto-playing the series, but it hardly seems to matter to him.

“Charlie called you, huh?”

“Yes, she did. She was worried about you.”

Dean huffs. “Why is that?”

“You haven’t been yourself.”

“Yeah, because you and her both know me so well.” He runs both of his hands across his face, sighs and looks straight at Castiel. “It’s alright. I’ve just been stressed.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean’s words are almost believable.

“I wish you’d answered my message, though.”

“Since I last checked, we weren’t anything exclusive. I think it also means we don’t need to cling to each other like horny teenagers.”

And _there_ it is.

“You didn’t seem to have any problem with keeping in touch before we had a scene.”

“That was because I was letting my dick do my thinking for me. Now that I’m somewhat sated — thanks for that, by the way, I know it wasn’t such a good idea to have an arrangement in the first place.”

Castiel hums, closes his book, and leans his cheek against his palm. He needs to be calm about this, or he’ll freak Dean out for good. Luckily, unlike everything else going on in his life right now, this he knows how to deal with. This, he’s good at.

“Well, we don’t always know what we want until we have it, and it works the other way around, too. Sometimes we think we know what we want, but turn out not wanting it after. I hope you still think everything we did was consensual.”

Dean shakes his head, and for a split second, it freaks Castiel out. Turns out, it’s that he finds the question ridiculous. “I can’t think how it could’ve been any more consensual. That’s not the case.”

“But there is a case.”

Dean works his jaw. “You’re not gonna change my mind. I’m not having a… a mental breakdown, or anything.”

“No, that’s not my intention. I just want to know if there’s something that made you decide this. If it’s simply you realizing this is not what you wanted, then by all means, let’s call it quits.”

Dean doesn’t answer, and Castiel knows it will take a bit more to get them on the same page again. He digs up the deck of cards he has on his pocket, and scoots forward with the chair so he can use the coffee table as a surface for dealing.

“I’m suffering from insomnia myself,” he starts, “because of what’s been going on at the circus. Even if there wasn’t anything this serious on my mind, I’ve got phases during which I can’t sleep. Sometimes I get lonely, and then, I meet up with some friends or acquaintances and we play poker.”

Dean’s eyes are on Castiel’s hands as they shuffle the deck and start dealing. He’s intrigued, but needs a hook. Luckily, Castiel brought a hook.

“What do you say? In this house, we play for money. I’ve got a couple of singles in my pocket from a rather burlesque circus night, and I’ll gladly strip you off your money to make a good nest egg for my early retirement fund.”

For a fleeting moment, Castiel can see Dean deciding to say no. Then, his gambling spirit takes hold of him. “You know what? That sounds like loser talk. Let me get my wallet.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, and Dean snorts before leaving the room.

 

As predicted, the game is a success. By the time Castiel has lost all of his forty-two dollars to Dean, he feels lighter than before but it’s nothing compared to Dean — he’s doing this little victory shimmying dance, too pleased to be ashamed of being such a dork. Castiel finds it adorable.

The best thing is, they’re on good terms again. They’re bickering like children, acting overdramatic about every single flush and full house, and coming up with new ways to gently insult each other.

“Never knew you were so good at this,” Castiel huffs, “I would’ve chosen something else if I knew your past includes gambling.”

“You knew it included hustling, asshat. Shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You’re right,” Castiel hums. He stretches out his stiff arms and rolls his shoulders. The sun rose a while ago, so they’ve been in the same position for some time. “All this losing makes me hungry. Want something to eat?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, letting his gaze drift to the table of now half-eaten snacks. “As much as I would love to live off grease and salt, I don’t think it’s possible.”

“That’s the spirit,” Castiel says, only narrowly avoiding the _that’s my boy_ from escaping his mouth. “I’ll go fetch us something.”

He makes it to the door before Dean calls him. “Cas, I’m —”

He turns back around and fixes Dean a look that’s intense enough to make Dean falter. Shit. Better make it lighter again. “What? Are you gonna ask me to go withdraw more money so you can keep on milking me dry?”

Dean exhales in lieu of a real laugh. “No. I… Sorry, you know. For earlier.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Dean.”

“I think lying counts as something to apologize for. Anyway, uh… I might need your help.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I…” He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times in his search for words.

“Listen, I’ll go get us something to eat. It seems to be a sunny day, so we can eat outside. After that, we could take a nap or something. Whenever you’re ready to talk, we’ll talk. Does this sound okay?”

The relief on Dean’s face is palpable. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas. That sounds awesome.”

 

*

 

The morning and the afternoon both pass in a half-sleepy phase. Charlie joins them at some point, but because Dean doesn’t seem to be any closer to finding his words, Castiel doesn’t mind. They talk about some people they’re looking for, and for a while, Castiel gets this irrational fear that they’re from the circus — but when Charlie mentions names Castiel’s never even heard of, he relaxes a little. He didn’t know Dean’s in town looking for someone, though, and it does make him a little restless.

Worst case scenario, it’s be Castiel he’s looking for. What would happen then? If Dean were sent from Sanan to chase him down, and eventually unravel his true identity… Well, their arrangement would end, for starters. Would Dean still cold-heartedly force Castiel to return? The thought alone is enough to make Castiel feel like he’s choking, so he abandons the thought. He heard the names. Nobody he knows is in danger.

Dean’s phone ringing further distracts Castiel from his thoughts — or maybe it’s the serious look that’s instantly on Dean’s face when he sees who’s calling. He tries not to eavesdrop but does hear words such as _Drowney Alley,_ that’s in the artisan district, and _last night._ He thinks back to his experience of someone following him, and whether that could be useful for Dean. It would probably be more polite to pretend he didn’t hear anything Dean said, but maybe because Dean’s been feeling low, he wants to help.

“I passed that district last night,” he says after Dean’s finished the call. Both he and Charlie glance up. “Artisan district, Drowney Alley. I saw someone.”

Charlie and Dean look at each other, obviously considering the potential.

“Well, there’s probably a lot of people out there,” Charlie says, a bit hesitant. “Or, I don’t know. I don’t go through the district at night. Do you?”

“Not usually,” Castiel says, “but I’d imagine it’s rather quiet at night. Not many people live there, it’s more a working district. Also with the highway cutting it from this side, it’s not all that popular for passing through, either.”

“So it could be important,” Dean muses. ”Where was this person headed?”

Castiel tries not to be distracted by Dean leaning against the table. It makes the muscles in his arms flex and exaggerates his form — Castiel would really, really like to have that body against him again.

“I don’t know. I felt like I was being followed. I lost them just before I reached the highway.”

Charlie frowns, something unrecognizable passing her features. She starts to type.

“Sounds creepy,” Dean says. “Anyway, it’s not like we’ll do a whole lot with the information now. The best we can do is to visit the district at night, but maybe we should do that only if we get another tip there.”

“Agree,” Charlie says. Castiel returns his gaze from Dean to Charlie, and she quickly looks away. Castiel tilts his head, trying to figure out what she’s thinking about. “So, what next?”

“Has anyone replied to our messages?”

 “No, they haven’t. Shit, I spent last night reading a former residents group but all I found was old landscape painting auctions. For a secret mission, this is surprisingly boring.” Charlie says. “Hah, and I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you, Castiel. You don’t know half of what we’re talking about.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t need to know who you’re looking for, or what you’re doing to get there. I’ll help if I can, just… Don’t think you owe any details to me because I could never share some of the things I’ve done to keep myself safe.”

The wording he chooses is odd; it implies he’s got something in his past that makes him feel unsafe to begin with. However, Charlie and Dean both brush it off as if he’s referring to the more recent stuff.

“Yeah, hey. How are people dealing with the whole… thing?” Charlie asks.

“It’s death, and you can call it that. Some better than others.”

Dean nods. “I can only imagine. From what I’ve gathered, you people are really close.”

“Sometimes too close for comfort,” Castiel laughs, and it comes a bit bitter.

“Feel you there. Speaking of which,” Charlie says. “I’ve been avoiding texts from Dorothy for a while now. I think I need to hear her out now.”

“Who’s Dorothy?” Dean asks.

“One of the exes,” Charlie says with a sly expression. “Although we sometimes get lost with the whole definition of an ex. Maybe that’s what she has in mind right now.”

The mood in the mansion shifts. Even Dean and Charlie feel it — it’s like the shadows darken a little, gain length and width, and a haze covers the windows, leaving the whole indoor space musty and confusing. Castiel looks around to see if someone’s already here, staring at him, tilting their head like they did at the bar. He sees nobody, but he knows it’s only a matter of time.

He does realize, though, that the contrast between these disturbances and the person that followed him last night is stark. There was nothing otherworldly about the person last night; just an everyday fellow who somehow seemed like a key feature nonetheless. No, this seems like a different phenomenon altogether — this is like people projected on a screen. These are holograms.

“This is —” Dean says, turning to look at Castiel. “This is very similar to the circus.”

“It is,” Castiel agrees. He automatically gravitates towards Dean, who happily indulges him and takes his hand. The simple touch feels grounding, warm, and hopeful.

“Guys, shouldn’t we get the hell out of here now?”

“Agree,” Castiel says. “Dean, are you comfortable with coming to my place?”

“Instead of dying here? Hell yeah, Cas, I’m comfortable. I just need a minute to pack. Do you think we’ve got a minute?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Castiel says, and as in emphasis, the door that’s been opened to let some air in from the garden bangs shut. “I’d rush if I were you.”

 

 *

 

Charlie insists that she’s fine, and that since she’s meeting Dorothy anyway, she can get some spells from her to keep herself safe. The information about Dorothy being a witch is a relief to both Castiel and Dean at this point — they did ask her to join them, but she said she’d rather chop some wood and accidentally hit her leg than be around their _pining asses_ for a second longer.

It’s all in good spirits, though.

Dean and Castiel return to Castiel’s home upstairs from Pamela, and Castiel can feel the shift in the atmosphere almost physically; it’s easier to breathe in here, and he feels more safe the further into his apartment he walks. Since it’s already evening, they decide to call it a night, Castiel putting together for Dean a makeshift mattress and blanket fortress in his favorite nook under the bed.

Listening to the sounds of his kinetic sculptures, Castiel falls asleep.

 

He dreams of the boy that helped him escape. It’s funny how after so many years, he’s completely forgotten his face and the way he talked, but is unable to forget how it felt when he found someone who was willing to help him get away from the castle. He remembers the conversations of starting a new life, and how ridiculous it sounded even to his own ears when they suddenly seemed so certain, age 12, that they both have a new path to follow now.

In the dream, they’re where they spent the night before Castiel crossed the border to Canada; in an old shack filled with glass bottles and dust. They, just as in reality, have found some canned food in the apocalypse bunker of the cellar and eat with gusto — Castiel’s hungry after their stroll through the forests of Aleidia. The boy talks about mechanical engineering and Castiel has no idea what it means, because that’s the sort of stuff never taught in the royal court. _Blue-collar subjects are for blue collars_ , like his father said.

Unlike in reality, the dream changes after this. They hear shadows circle the shack, looking for a way in. There’s mumbling, both in the old Sanan language of Velonnaise and English, and even though no sentences fully form, the implication is clear; they want Castiel. They want him for his royal blood, his connection to the circus, and for his _grace_. 12-year-old Castiel tries to ask what that means, but all that comes out of his mouth are broken syllables, like canting a spell, and the faceless boy across from him stays silent.

Another voice from the outside catches his attention, but this belongs to someone he loves — it’s calling out to him, asking him to follow, guiding him to safety. Castiel gets up and follows it, but just as he’s crossing the threshold of the shack, he startles awake.

Dean’s shouting in his sleep. It sounds like he’s covered in insects or something as terrifying, and it sounds absolutely heartbreaking. Castiel walks down the ladder and sits next to Dean before gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean, you’re having a bad dream,” he whispers. Dean flinches, but doesn’t wake. Castiel clears his throat and tries again. “Dean.”

This time, Dean opens his eyes and looks around the space wildly before fixing his gaze on Castiel. His breathing is rapid and he’s been sweating, but he seems to calm the longer their eye contact hold.

Eventually, he opens his mouth. The voice is defeated. “Can you hold me?”

Castiel smiles. “Of course.”

Dean scoots until he’s against the wall, and Castiel carefully lays himself down on the mattress. He extends an arm and Dean immediately takes the opportunity to fall into his arms. Wrapping his other arm around Dean’s body, he starts drawing patterns on whatever skin he can reach.

They lay silent until Castiel’s sure Dean’s fallen asleep. Then, suddenly, he starts to talk.

“My dad raised Sammy and me alone. Back then, I thought he was doing his best but the older I get, the better I realize it was the bare minimum. I was lucky to be born into a better family, one with something of a status,” his voice is mocking here, the choice of words obviously not his but his father’s, “but it didn’t mean we were well taken care of. I mean, I didn’t lie about the fact that we were just tossed somewhere on the side when dad had important business stuff to attend to. He was a negotiator, and eventually did negotiate the whole family a deal that we couldn’t say no to…”

Dean sighs heavily. Whatever this is, it’s one of the things that’s been weighing him down.

“Anyway, since Sammy was the brains of the family, I was just… I don’t want to use the word sold, but I’m gonna use it anyway. I was sold like goods, myself. I wasn’t worth more than my weight in gold, and when you’re talking about family… I don’t know, it never sat right with me. I can’t share details, but I’ve always seen it being sold as this handy workforce that’ll make someone else look good. I’ll never be done working for this, and I’ll never be able to truly get what I want. That’s my dad’s legacy, and I hate it, but there’s no way out.”

“It does sound awful,” Castiel says. He feels this on a deeper level than he wants to admit right now. He feels exactly the same about his father, his duty as the heir, his never being completely safe and allowed to choose his own calling.

“Yeah. My dad’s been gone for a while now, and yet I still feel I’m tangled in his web of bullshit. I’ve been talking to this woman who can get in touch with people in the afterlife, and apparently, my dad’s still shit-talking me across the border.”

“Shit,” Castiel mutters. He places a kiss on Dean’s forehead and instantly freezes because he _probably should not be doing that,_ but Dean just squeezes in closer, welcoming any touch Castiel gives him. His heart swells at the feeling of being so completely trusted.

“So that’s what I was dreaming about, in case you were wondering. My dad hijacking Breaking Bad to shit-talk me.”

Castiel huffs joylessly. “I’m so sorry you need to deal with that shit even when you’re asleep.”

A beat of silence, before Dean speaks again. “My dad always taught me to be self-sufficient, and to take what I wanted. That, I thought, was one of his better lessons — to work towards what you want and take it without expecting others to help you with that. So when I realized just how thoroughly I needed and wanted something that was the complete opposite of that…”

“Hmm, yes. You freaked out.”

“I really did. I felt inadequate, and weak. Then, I started to feel filthy and ashamed. I hated how much I was craving your touch, and you telling me what to do, and how I came hard enough to legit pass out — I thought that only happens in the same stories that use ketchup as lube.”

Castiel snorts and gives another kiss, this to Dean’s hair. He loves to have him close like this, open and vulnerable. The blessing of the situation isn’t lost on him.

“Do you still think like that?”

“I mean — I know I’m being unreasonable. I just can’t quite shake the feeling.”

Castiel moves his hand so he can stroke the line of Dean’s jaw in a gesture to make him look up. He does, and in the dim lights of the alcove, Castiel’s sure he’s the most beautiful person to ever have existed. His long lashes cast shadows on his freckled cheeks, and his green eyes seem dark, yet they glimmer with the fairy lights reflecting on them. Castiel wants nothing more than to kiss him, but it’s not what Dean needs right now.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make some coffee to keep us awake, and I’m gonna put my tablet on charger so we can stay here, under blankets, all day. Does that sound like something you want to do?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, scooting impossibly closer. “Also, kisses. Can we kiss? Is morning breath kissing too gross?”

“Yes and no,” Castiel says, his heart happily skipping a couple of beats by the realization that Dean wants to kiss him, “yes, I’d rather have you kissing me when I don’t taste gross. Hell no, am I going to get up now that you offered to kiss me anyway.”

Dean smiles and places his hands on Castiel’s chest. Gently, he leans in closer and brushes his lips against Castiel. It’s chaste and so comforting that Castiel absolutely refuses to ever move again.

 

 *

 

Two days pass and Castiel refuses to think about the possibility of Dean ever leaving his house again. For now, he doesn’t even suggest it because the mood shift in the mansion was scary as hell, but eventually… Dean’s going to say he needs to go. Castiel decidedly doesn’t think about it and so they just watch movies and tv-series, make easy dinners, drink coffee, and talk. It’s almost too easy, too comfortable, and domestic; it really doesn’t make Castiel’s problem with falling for Dean disappear.

Quite the opposite, rather obviously.

The funniest thing is, he’s got a feeling Dean feels the same. There’s a fondness to his gaze and a softness to his touch, and every now and then, Castiel notices Dean look away the minute their eyes meet, like he’s been staring at him for ages and doesn’t want to be caught. Castiel does the same, though, so he definitely doesn’t blame Dean — but as much as a part of him loves the fluttering feeling of uncertainty, he would like to also speak straight.

Nothing happens.

They’re playing another round of poker, this time with the remainder of coffee milk instead of money, when there’s a knock on his door. Since he didn’t hear the sound of Pamela’s door closing, it can’t be her… So it’s someone from the circus. It’s been a couple of days of silence now, and for a while, he’s afraid it’s bad news — but they did agree on taking a couple of days off, and now some of his closer friends are probably getting restless.

However, it’s a problem that Dean’s here.

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice calm and collected. “I don’t… I should tell you something about myself, but first, I need you to hide.”

Dean frowns. He glances at the milk carton on the table, and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“You can take the milk and the coffee, but climb up to the bed and stay quiet. I will explain later, but it’s not good for us to be seen together this often.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” Dean says slowly, “you’ve always been hesitant to hang out with both me and your friends.”

“And I will explain why,” Castiel says, worrying his lip with his teeth, “but not now. Can you do this for me?”

“Is that an order?” Dean asks, lifting a brow. Castiel all but gasps at the sharp turn in this conversation. An image he’s been _toying_ with a couple of times returns to his mind, and he needs to take another sharp turn because there’s friends behind his door and opening it up with a boner would be unfortunate.

It’s been three days they’ve spent together, two of which Dean has been in a really good mood — and himself again. That and the fact he’s bringing it up himself does imply he’s ready for another scene.

“No, this is me asking a favor from a friend. However, there’s a thing I’d want to try with you. _On_ you, if you please.”

Dean licks his lips. “Sounds… intriguing. Okay. I’ll hide. You owe me a story and an orgasm, though.”

“Oh, you’ll get both, alright,” Castiel hums, satisfied at how Dean’s eyes darken at the possibility now on the table. He shamelessly watches Dean’s pretty ass as he climbs, lifts him his coffee cup once he’s settled, and opens the door once he’s sure there’s nothing implying he’s had a guest.

“Took you long enough,” Balthazar says, Meg, Alicia, and Max behind him. “Can we come in?”

“Has something happened?” Castiel asks, getting out of the way and letting them pass. “Sorry for the mess, wasn’t expecting visitors.”

“You’ve never been sorry for your messes, Clarence,” Meg says. She looks around curiously, but Castiel’s just reading too much into her behavior — there’s no way any of them could guess what he’s hiding.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Max says. “Rowena’s feeling better, so that’s a plus.”

“Oh, that is nice to hear. Does she want to meet us?”

“No word yet. Her son, of all people, is taking care of her. Came all the way from the big city to do that,” Balthazar says, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe? Mr. Worldwide in our humble town.”

“I can’t believe,” Castiel says, trying to keep in a laugh. Crowley has always been a little smug about how he made it away from the circus, even though he never truly was a part of it — being Rowena’s son didn’t automatically mean he’d need her protection like the rest of them did. Sometimes, he came around just to flaunt his money or whatever endeavor he was up to, and Rowena hated him as much as the rest of them. Still, apparently, he’s around when it matters and that’s a nice thing to know, Castiel guesses.

“Have you seen something suspicious recently?” Alicia asks. When their eyes meet, she narrows her eyes a little before walking up to him, wordlessly gesturing that she wants to give him a hug. Castiel obliges, wondering what she saw that made her want to console him.

“Well, there was a brief encounter uptown,” he says hesitantly, not wanting to share that he was in fact in Dean’s house when it happened. “Mostly just the feeling of static and some doors banging. Scary, but I… Didn’t see anything, if that’s what you wondered. Not this time.”

If Dean’s listening, he’ll probably have to explain this one, too. It should be alright, though. It’s not a secret he should keep.

“Right,” Balthazar says. “Well, that’s good to hear. Lisa said she heard some whispering, but I think the rest of us have had it easy for now.”

“I wonder why they’re stalling,” Meg says.

“You think they’re stalling?” Max asks.

“It’s rather obvious. First of all, I think Ember’s death, as horrid as it was, was a warning. Second of all, there’s something about this taking so long that makes me wonder. If indeed we were discovered, and the lock is now broken, why didn’t the entities just come in and kill us all? What more do they want before they do something?” Meg’s voice is low, and this is the closest Castiel’s heard to panic from her. He agrees, but can’t offer answers.

“Maybe they’re controlled by someone,” Alicia ventures.

“We didn’t came here to talk about our theories, guys, so let’s leave that until we are all in the same room again,” Balthazar says. “We were planning to throw a show on Saturday. Are you in?”

“Day or night?”

“Actually, we’re going for a day one. Something for the whole family to enjoy,” Alicia says, “we could use the kids.”

“Without sounding too creepy, preferably,,” Max laughs.

“Yeah, well. We need people laughing. We need young people to laugh. We need to feel good. Can you whip something up in five days?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “I’ll do a variation of _Tonight Tonight_. Haven’t done it in a long time.”

“Yeah, since — before,” Balthazar says, suddenly squinting angrily. “You don’t have a reason to suddenly be able to do that again?”

Castiel raises a brow at him. “What’s it to you? I’m a grown-up.”

“You know what he means, and can you please stop this already,” Meg groans. “Anyway, since we’ve now officially talked and you’ve said yes to Saturday, we’ll be on our way. Nice seeing you.”

They make it to the door and since Alicia is the last to leave, she pulls Castiel in for another hug — mostly to whisper in his ear. “Nice to see you both.”

Castiel feigns ignorance, but Alicia wasn’t waiting for him to confess anything anyway. With a salute, she’s out. Castiel stands next to the door for a long while before finally exhaling and turning back towards the loft, where Dean’s already hanging an arm over the railing, his cheek flopped next to it.

“We need to talk,” Castiel sighs.

 

 


	13. Car si l’on me perd, c’est seulement pour rester la tienne

Castiel talks.

They walk to the treehouse, and he talks.

He tells Dean about how they’re protected from being seen by a witch, and how they’ve all come from backgrounds that require that extra shelter. He talks about how the spell is broken the second they’re found, and how it’s possible that it’ll soon be too late.

He talks about how Rowena fainted, and how she’s been ill since. How some of the people thought she’s not doing as well as she’s pretending to be while others thought she’s meticulously trying to play them.

What he doesn’t talk about, though, is his past. He still doesn’t know Dean well enough to lay it on him, and besides… While they’re still uncertain whether the entities are controlled by someone or acting from their own will, it would be foolish towards all his friends to reveal his true identity to someone outside the circus. Dean doesn’t ask, but Castiel knows he must be wondering by now. Still, he’s hiding something himself, so they’re even.

When they step in the treehouse, all pretenses are stripped away. Only briefly faltering to ask for consent first, Dean pulls Castiel in for a kiss. Castiel sighs into it happily and they make it to the couch, both sitting cross-legged facing each other, before Castiel gently breaks the kiss. He lays both of his hands on Dean’s knee and curls his fingers to feel solid skin under them.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, too,” he says, looking down at his fingers as they start twirling automatically, “about why I don’t like people to see us together.”

“I do hope you’re out,” Dean says, obviously trying to make the situation a bit easier for Castiel, “I mean, sorry, but you’re _so_ gay.”

Castiel snorts. “No, no. I’m out to everyone.”

“Good. Do you want something to eat while you talk?”

Castiel looks up, confused. Dean shrugs.

“I don’t know. I feel easier to talk when I’m eating. So in case you’re ever gonna hear me talk again, you’re providing food.”

“I’m still grateful you confided in me, Dean. It makes it easier for me to tell you all of these things, now.”

Dean frowns. “I do feel we’re bending on that rule of yours, though.”

“But only as much as we’re comfortable with. Wait, you’re comfortable with me telling you things, right?”

“Obviously,” he rolls his eyes gently. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

For emphasis, Dean places both of his hands on Castiel’s cheeks and gives three, four, five, six little kisses on his lips.

“Thank you, Dean. No, I… I’d rather we talk after. We need to get food in your system if we’re going to do some tests tonight.”

“Go on, now. Don’t distract me.”

Castiel smiles. “Okay, but this is going to get heavy. Are you sitting tight?”

“I’d sit tight if this conversation was held while you’re in my lap, but sure, sure, I’m tight.”

“Fine,” Castiel rolls his eyes and throws his leg over Dean so he can straddle him. “Better?”

“Hmmh,” Dean says, instantly starting to run his fingers up and down Castiel’s back. “Love you like this.”

Trying to hide his blush, Castiel frowns. No time like the present to start.

“I fall in love… hard,” he says. Well, that’s the worst of it. Should get easier now. “I’m a little extreme when it comes to feelings. I’ve seen doctors about it, that’s _doctors_ in plural. I’ve been through tests, and there’s nothing that particularly pops up — with my most recent therapist, Billie, we got a little closer to the root cause. My childhood, and that’s a thing I’m not going to talk about, was isolated and demanding. When I finally was free from it… Finding out I can love someone, and be loved in return, it was intoxicating. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and many of the people I thought I would love forever turned out to be flings. I don’t hold a grudge against them, of course I don’t, but I’ve found out that fundamentally, I’ve always wanted different things than the people I hook up with.”

Dean nods. His hands feel grounding.

“Billie told me this is what I’m like. This is my personality, and there’s nothing wrong with me. I just… Feel love extremely. When it happened the last time, and that was when I was last in an arrangement much like this — although, we did share our whole life stories before — I fell, and he didn’t, and I was so broken over it I decided it would stop for now. Until I completely learn to harness my feelings and feel love like my peers, I won’t do this stuff. I told my friends this is how it’s going to go, and that if I need to let out some steam, I’ll hook up for a night. I’ve done that some, and sometimes, it’s nice. But _nice_ is as close as it gets.”

“Can I ask questions during this lesson?” Dean asks. His voice is reduced to a whisper, and for a while, Castiel thinks he’s going to go full cliche and say something like _would you like to make love to me now because I love you,_ but that’s just nonsense and, even Castiel wouldn’t want that right now.

“Of course.”

“What do you mean when you say you fall hard?”

He lowers his gaze again. “I need to physically keep myself from going to the extremes. I’m the kind of person who’d drive to my beloved to keep them safe even if it meant driving for fifty hours. I’m the person who makes mixtapes and wishes you’d listen to every hidden meaning in the lyrics. I’m the person who spends all day finding you that specific brand of cereal you like. I’m the person who orders you pizza when you’re sleeping if I know you like pizza.”

Realizing he’s, at some god forsaken point, changed the term from “my beloved” to “you” makes him blush so hard he feels a little faint. God, he’s going to throw up. He’s not even sure if he’s that deep into Dean. He doesn’t allow himself to do any extra thinking on the subject.

“I don’t know, man,” Dean says, his voice just a little heavy, implying he’s been thinking about the possibility of this being about him already, “that sounds reasonable. I thought you talked about throwing confetti every time your loved one went outside. I thought you’d go on jealous violent rampages when you see them chatting with someone else. I don’t mean to, like, downplay your emotions or anything, but honestly, Cas? This sounds like stuff I’d gladly do to my significant other, and I’d gladly have it done to me — although please don’t spend all day looking for cereal. I’d rather have you, corn flakes or not.”

Castiel frowns. “You like corn flakes?”

“Were we talking as if this situation was about you and me already?”

“Refuse to believe,” Castiel says firmly. “Anyway, now you know. I fall in love. I’m not looking for a hero to save me, that’s not what I fall in love for.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you don’t feel too much, but other people feel too little?”

They look at each other for a long while. Just like that, Dean has made Castiel’s foundation shake. He likes the feeling.

“I haven’t —”

“Yeah?”

“I just always thought they left because I was suffocating them. One actually said I was suffocating them.”

“Again, not your fault. You just wanted different things in life.”

“Dean, stop making me question my existence.”

“Well, shut me up then.”

They melt into a kiss that starts hard and ends up soft.

 

Although Castiel fears that his emotional instability kills the mood, Dean’s all over him the whole time they eat. It’s almost embarrassing how good it feels to hold someone while eating, how nice it is to ironically feed someone and make them laugh around forkfuls of pasta. He knows they’ve grown closer through the conversation, and he knows the shine in Dean’s eyes is because he’s impossibly more attracted to him now. Since Castiel knows he’s a perfect mirror to Dean’s expression, though, it doesn’t matter.

After dinner, they take a shower together; a surprisingly lazy and chaste one. They exchange long, indulgent kisses while rinsing off soap and shampoo, and Castiel’s secretly _so_ pleased Dean smells like _Lord of Misrule_ now. It works wonders on digestion, too — when they’re finally done and all dried up, they’re no longer painfully full and lazy enough to take a nap.

It’s with surprisingly little rush they start talking about the scene, though. Instead, they end up kissing on the bed, completely naked, just drowning into sensations of clean skin and each other. Castiel loves how Dean’s tongue moves in his mouth, how his hands map out his skin like he’s committing it all to memory. It’s precious in a way Castiel knows is dangerous, but he’s too involved in it to find himself to be careful.

“I heard,” Dean says as Castiel drops gentle kisses on his neck, “that you had something planned.”

“Oh, I do. I just need to make sure you’re up for it,” a swirl of his tongue on the soap-sweetened skin under Dean’s ear, “because it’s a lot more about limits than our last scene.”

“Well, count me in,” Dean says, a visible shiver running down his body.

“Alright. Tonight’s scene would include orgasm control and a toy. How does this sound?”

“Please, sir,” Dean whispers. They melt into another kiss, and eventually, Castiel decides it’s time to start. A little hesitantly he puts his hands under himself and wrenches himself up. Giving Dean a glance up and down his body, he sighs dreamily.

“You look stunning like this, my beautiful boy,” he says, letting his voice lower a notch. “I want to make you feel good.”

Dean blushes under the words of affection, raising a hand on his mouth to keep himself from moaning.

“Whatever you’re doing right now, my love, you don’t need to. I want to make you feel good, and I want to hear you feel good.”

“Right, sir,” Dean says, clearing his throat. Both of his hands return to his sides, and he breathes deep to calm himself down. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Castiel assures him. He walks up to the drawer he’s got his items stacked in and digs up a toy he purchased recently but hasn’t got around to testing yet — it’s a masturbator with vibration, suction and heat combined, and honestly he’s not sure how anyone could pull off what he’s going to attempt on Dean, but he’s curious and he knows Dean’ll be into this.

“Question,” he says, his voice suddenly hoarse with the image in his head, “do you want to be tied?”

“I—” Dean licks his lips, blush spreading all over his face and upper body. “Yeah. I also kind of — uh. I shouldn’t be making requests here.”

“Oh, but I always want to know what my good boy likes,” Castiel croons, “I’m proud of you for even thinking about it, and that much prouder if you say it out loud.”

“Never had a collar,” he says then, pressing his eyes shut. “Curious.”

“Oh, so is that it? You’d like a collar to wear, my pretty boy? You’d like to be tied up and in a collar, completely desperate and helpless under my hands?”

“Yes,” Dean whispers.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please, sir, I want you to tie me up so I can’t even move, and I want you to put a collar on me like you own me, and I want you to fuck me senseless, to fucking _wreck_ me,” Dean grinds his teeth, oh god, he’s desperate for Castiel to touch him, to leave his mark, to claim him, “please, Castiel, I need you so bad.”

Castiel quickly scoops a couple of items from the drawer before making his way back to Dean, placing both hands on his body, and leaning in for a gentle, albeit teasing, kiss. “Good boy, Dean. I will give you what you want.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What’s your safeword?”

“Uh, mercury, sir.”

“Good. It’s there for a reason. You use it, I’ll let you go. If you don’t, however… I won’t. If you say you can’t keep on going anymore, I’m going to ask you to safeword out. Is this understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great. Good boy,” another kiss, this on Dean’s jaw. As he moves lower, he can feel Dean swallow under his lips. “Let’s start, then.”

Castiel starts by placing Dean in a half-seated position, tying his wrists together with a loose double-column tie; and instead of moving them up like the last time, he bends his arms at the elbows. He then runs his fingers down Dean’s legs to his ankles, where he starts bending upwards until Dean’s completely exposed under his hands, already breathing heavily, and his cock is leaking precome against his stomach. With a happy hum, Castiel continues tying until Dean’s wrists are bound on both sides to his ankles, leaving his beautiful hole up and looking good enough to eat. Castiel finishes the pose by tying the leftover rope to the headboard, immobilizing Dean almost completely.

“How does this feel?” he asks. Dean bites his lip, wriggles his hands and toes, and sighs. Instead of being elevated, his breathing is slowing down. He’s already spacing out.

“So good, sir,” he says. “So damn good.”

“Great, love. I’m pleased to hear it. You look so nice like this. I could just lube you up and fuck you into oblivion right here. Have my way with you. Would you like that, my good boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mm, maybe another time. Right now, there’s something else I’ve planned for you. First, though, I’ve got the collar for you.”

It’s a simple white leather collar Castiel dug up, mostly because it’s also unused. What makes is special, though, is that it’s got two rings on it; two chains hang from them, and they end in two nipple clamps. Even if they hadn’t discussed everything in detail, Castiel would’ve guessed Dean’s into his nipples being teased by now — he reacts to it beautifully, and the fact that his cock twitches upon seeing them now only clarifies it further.

With gentle fingers, he places the collar on Dean’s neck. For now, he lets the clamps hang loose — he’ll come around to them soon enough — and then, he takes the masturbator in his hands and starts twirling it around.

“Now, before I ask you what I expect from you, I want you to tell me something.”

Dean hums in affirmation. His eyes are closed and he looks absolutely blissed out.

“Look at me, my love,” Castiel says. Dean instantly follows the order, and his eyes are completely dark. Absolutely stunning. “What did I tell you about safewording?”

For a while, Dean is silent, and Castiel worries he didn’t pay attention after all, but then, he clears his throat. “Only safeword counts as safewording. If I tell you I can’t go on, you ask me for my safeword.”

“Good boy,” Castiel says again, leaning forward to give Dean a kiss on his lips. His hardened cock accidentally brushes over the sensitive spot behind Dean’s balls, and Dean’s breath hitches. Fighting the urge to do it again, Castiel sits back down and shows Dean the device in his hands. “Do you know what this is?”

“Ah, a fleshlight?”

“Yes, pretty close. It’s a bit more technical than that, though. Now, have you ever used a fleshlight?”

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

“Then I’m afraid it’s hard to set a time for you,” Castiel muses, mostly to himself. “But we’re going to try anyway. Now, all I’m asking of you is that you don’t come in four minutes. Do you think that’s something you can do for me?”

“I— Don’t think I’ve come that fast since my teenage years so yes, I can do that.”

“Are you talking back at me?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. So, this should be easy for you, then,” Castiel says with a wry smile. “Although…”

He runs his fingers on the underside of Dean’s cock, perfectly exposed to him just like his hole. Dean moans and gasps at the touch, trying to buck up his hips and failing miserably.

“You do seem quite amped up already.”

Castiel puts a generous amount of lube both in the masturbator and on Dean’s cock, and when he gives it a couple of firm pumps, Dean’s eyes roll back and his moans slither straight into Castiel’s own cock. Shit, this is going to be magnificent.

It’s a tight fit, and as soon as Dean’s completely inside the device, Castiel puts his finger over the on switch. He checks the digital clock on his nightstand for the starting time, and hums. “Alright, beautiful. Four minutes starts now.”

He presses the switch and a low groan escapes Dean’s throat. His hands and toes wriggle as he desperately tries to have some control over his limbs — but since Castiel is making sure he has none, he soon gives up. His jaw clenches as Castiel presses the device a level up; and when he presses another, Dean’s no longer able to keep quiet. His moans and gasps are completely out of his own control, which Castiel finds both beautiful and so hot it makes him blush.

“That’s one minute. Three more to go,” Castiel hums. “Are you hanging in there okay?”

Dean manages a nod, and Castiel presses the button again. Dean’s breathing hitches and all of the muscles in his thighs clench — his moan turns into a sob and he tries to throw his head back, but only manages to gently hit it against the headboard.

“Two and thirty to go,” Castiel notes, “now, we’re going to take this up a notch.”

Dean whines and bites his lip — it’s going to bleed if he keeps it up, but other than that, he’s fine — and Castiel catches one of the nipple clamps with his free hand. He gives Dean’s right nipple a couple of strokes to fully erect before attaching the clamp; Dean groans with satisfaction. Castiel pumps Dean’s cock with the masturbator a couple of times before adding one more level.

“Holy fucking — Cas,” Dean manages, “I, for fuck’s sake, I can’t hold on much longer.”

“You can do this, honey,” Castiel says, keeping his voice calm and warm since that’s what Dean needs right now. “You’re doing amazing. I know you can do this for me.”

Dean whimpers and nods, and Castiel lets him have a couple of seconds of rest without pumping, but after they hit the two minute mark, it’s time to raise the stakes. Again using his free hand, Castiel grabs the lube and lathers some on a curved plug he also has at the ready. Before using it, though, he massages Dean’s rim with his thumb. Dean groans, high and desperate and long, and mutters some _pleases_ that Castiel’s not sure mean _more_ or _less_ , but he keeps at it nonetheless.

The plug’s thin and thus doesn’t require much prepping, but he does go gently until it’s neatly nestled inside, pressing against Dean’s prostate, making him outright yell until his throat must be getting sore. Castiel does have a little mercy on him, and after attaching the other nipple clamp; he lets Dean just ride the feeling out instead of trying to add to it. He keeps on telling Dean the time, minutes and seconds until there’s only a couple of left, Dean’s crying and sweating and salivating and so beautiful with his eyes pressed closed. A wave of pride and lust both fill Castiel at the same time, and when the time’s finally up, he adds two more levels on the device to wrench Dean’s orgasm out of him. He comes loud, messy and shaking like a leaf, and while a part of Castiel thinks he could give Dean a break now, he decides to really test his limits.

“Absolutely beautiful, Dean,” he says, and after he’s released him from the masturbator he starts to gently massage Dean’s thighs and calves. “you did so good. You’re such a good boy for me. I love to have you all to myself like this… All splayed out for me, trusting me to take care of you.”

Dean hums, clears his throat, opens his eyes. They’re green, teared up, and he looks like he means business. “Please,” he says.

“Hmm? What do you need, my love?”

“Please, sir,” he repeats. Clears his throat. Frowns, and moves his fingers. “Fuck my face.”

Of all the things Castiel thought Dean could be after, this definitely wasn’t one of them. He feels his mouth go dry.

“Are you sure?”

Dean nods, suddenly enthusiastic. “Yes, please. You,” he catches his breath, “told me I did good. Give me my reward, Castiel.”

Castiel smiles. “Gladly. Now, though, you’ll be unable to use your safeword. If you want me to stop,” he stands up on the bed and places himself closer to Dean so he’ll be able to fulfill Dean’s wish and also lift Dean’s fingers on his thigh. “Tap three times. I will never be too far gone to feel you. Do you trust me, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Castiel says with a smile and lifts Dean’s head with a touch to his jaw. There’s nothing but bliss in Dean’s eyes. “So good for me.”

He takes hold of himself and touches Dean’s lower lip with the head of his cock. With a happy sigh, Dean opens his mouth and swirls his tongue on the underside of his shaft, never breaking eye contact. Holy fuck, but he looks so good like this, wanton and ready to be fucked, and Castiel’s not sure how long he can keep without coming. Still using his hand, Castiel taps his cock on Dean’s lip a couple of times before pushing in a little — just the glans at first — and when he pulls back out, Dean moans in frustration. It could be a good opportunity to teach Dean about patience, but since Castiel’s own is wearing very thin, he gives them both what they need right now and pushes back in, all the way back past Dean’s soft palate and into his throat. Placing his hand lower on Dean’s jaw, he can feel himself inside him.

His heart thuds so loud for a while he’s sure he’s going to die.

Dean just hums, wiggles his fingers against Castiel’s skin, and after briefly closing his eyes, looks back up at him.

“Dean,” Castiel manages, “I wish I had words for how good you feel right now.”

He pulls out a little more and Dean inhales sharply; his airways weren’t completely blocked but his oxygen intake was definitely compromised. Castiel groans and pushes back in, putting one of his hands on Dean’s cheek and using the other for support against the wall, and starts fucking Dean’s mouth. He sets a good pace that should still keep him from coming too fast, but each time Dean moans, vibrations pass from his mouth to Castiel’s cock and up his spine, and it’s perfect. Dean’s mouth is mostly slack, he’s just letting himself be used like this because that was what he wanted, but at times he sharpens his tongue or hollows his cheeks and Castiel’s breath hitches each time. He does realize he’s letting constant praise slip from his mouth, he’s talking dirty and using superlatives, but as he feels the impending orgasm on his abdomen and balls and prostate and fucking toes, he hesitantly pulls back.

Dean instantly starts to groan — he whines desperately, gasps, grinds his teeth, and whimpers, and Castiel briefly thinks it’s because he hates that Castiel pulled away, but then he realizes Dean is actually coming; his dick is spurting small amounts of come on his stomach that’s already painted with it, and as Castiel leans back, he can see how Dean’s muscles are clenching around the plug that’s still inside him.

“My god,” he says, unable to keep the marvel from his voice, “you are so beautiful right now, Dean, you have no idea. I can’t believe how good you are for me.”

Dean hums, wiggles his toes and presses his eyes shut. Castiel already guesses what he wants, but right now, he’s curious to find out if he could make Dean come once more — giving him a kiss on the back of his thigh, he heads back to the drawer to get a vibrator. It’s meant for prostate massaging, which makes it perfect for this use — that is, of course, if Dean consents to it.

“Dean, my love,” he whispers as he kneels back on the bed. “You’ve made me curious. I want to know if I can make you come one more time.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, and he’s the epitome of sex; mouth open, breathing heavily, eyes still dark with lust, and his cock desperately twitching as if it could erect after two orgasms.

He doesn’t safeword.

Castiel feels an intense wave of pride for the second time tonight.

“I’m going to lube this up for you,” he says, and Dean watches his hands as he takes lube and rubs it up and down the sleek, black silicone vibrator with a green jewel at the end. With a hum, he shows it to Dean.

“What do you know? A gemstone for your ass.”

Dean tries to laugh, but only manages out a huff and a half-assed roll of his eyes. Castiel places another kiss on his skin, and a hundred more, before taking out the previous plug and pushing his finger inside. Dean’s loose enough for one finger and eases gently into two, and since the vibrator’s still very reasonable in girth, he can gently put it in soon enough. It takes a while to find Dean’s prostate, but Dean’s merciful enough to give him a hint with a long, low groan. After another kiss, this on the underside of Dean’s spent dick, Castiel starts the vibrator.

Even though Castiel’s fingers aren’t inside of Dean now, he can feel how his muscles clench around the toy. He’s spent all of his voice already and his moans come out hoarse and thick and airy, and it’s so stunning Castiel can’t help but scoot up to Dean and claim his lips for a kiss. He can taste his own precome on Dean’s lips, and it makes him realize he hasn’t come yet; it doesn’t matter right now, because all he needs to feel is all of the muscles in Dean’s body curl up and try to press against him. He kisses desperately and Castiel can feel tears fall from his eyes again, and once more he’s thrown by the realization that someone has given themselves to him like this. Someone trusts him, his shitty dramatic love and all, and wants his hands all over their body.

Dean’s mouth falls away from his, and he’s breathing desperately, hyperventilating like there’s no tomorrow in his body, and Castiel watches him with awe as he topples over the threshold of another orgasm with a long, breathless whimper. The skin on his face is blotchy after all tears and breathing and heat and pleasure, and he bites his lower lip and frowns. Visible travel through his body and he’s completely spent, yet…

Yet Castiel doesn’t pull the vibrator away from Dean’s prostate. When Dean realizes this is what his life is now, he breathes sharply through his nose, opens his mouth to say something, and then, snaps it shut. Just in case he’s no longer able to form words, Castiel lifts his free hand on top of Dean’s, giving him the possibility to tap out. When he doesn’t, but intertwines their fingers instead, Castiel stifles a sob.

“You’ve been so good for me today, Dean,” Castiel whispers, “you’ve exceeded all my expectations, and I can’t believe I get to have you. I can’t believe you’re mine, and mine alone, and I get to see you like this, feel you like this, fuck you like this. Now, I’m going to do just that; I’m going to fuck your pretty ass until I come, and you’re allowed to come with me if you can, but I in no way expect that from you. Do you understand?”

Dean lifts his brows, processes the words. He’s deep into subspace now and honestly, Castiel can’t wait to guide him out and take care of him. Finally, he nods.

Not wanting to break the way their hands are now locked, Castiel manages to reach the lube with one hand. He takes some on his fingers and after taking the vibrator out, pushes them inside. Dean’s completely relaxed, he could take him easily, but he wants to be gentle now that Dean’s so far gone. After slowly pumping three fingers for a while, Castiel takes himself in hand and pushes past the rim.

Dean purrs at the feeling, and when Castiel looks up at him, he’s looking right back with an almost shy smile on his face. Castiel answers it and leans back in to place chaste kisses on Dean’s face and neck while he pushes fully in. Dean’s muscles tighten around him, forcing a nearly ecstatic moan out of him as he starts moving his hips — he keeps his thrusts shallow at first, but soon can’t help himself and fucks into Dean with all he’s got. Dean keeps on reaching for Castiel’s lips with his own, and they kiss until Castiel’s orgasm is pulled out of him with a force that makes him lose all strength from his limbs and he falls on Dean, perfectly spent, aftershocks of his orgasm making his cock twitch inside of Dean. Then, he realizes Dean’s muscles are spasming too; he came once more while Castiel was spilling his seed inside of him.

 

Castiel gently tugs the rope through the tie and straightens Dean’s legs on the mattress. As soon as he does the same with Dean’s hands, they’re reaching out to him, and he obliges with a fond smile — there’s cleaning to be done, but it can wait until Dean regains some of his strength. He does need to bring him something to drink in a couple of minutes, but right now, they simply bask in the afterglow.

Dean’s tired and sated, and when Castiel presses kisses on his forehead and cheeks, he hums happily. Castiel wants to focus on keeping his fingers and lips on Dean’s body — he wants to make him feel cherished and appreciated, and that nothing in the world could make him leave Dean’s side right now. There’s no need for words yet; they can come later.

When Dean’s breathing changes, implying he’s close to dozing off, Castiel whispers him a sorry, kisses his rope-reddened wrists and fetches a bottle of fruit juice. It takes Dean a while to scoot upright enough to swallow, and he still sputters a little, but drinks half the bottle anyway. Castiel strokes his hair through it before offering him a hand.

“Do we have to move,” Dean mutters, “Wanna sleep.”

“We’ll get around to it, my love. First, we need to clean up.”

“Already showered.”

Reluctantly, Dean takes Castiel’s hand anyway. They start making their way downstairs.

“I had something else in mind, actually,” Castiel says when he helps Dean downstairs. He seems to be fully conscious, just very weak in all his muscles. “I want to take a bath with you.”

“And tickle me until I scream?”

“I don’t understand that reference, but if you want that, I’ll provide. I was hoping to give you a massage while you’re mostly submerged, though.”

“Ain’t saying no to that,” Dean whispers.

Castiel seats Dean down on the toilet seat while drawing the bath. He adds a little blue and pink ball of bath oil into the water to help with the massage, and once the tub is half filled, he closes he faucet and gets back to Dean.

“Now, I’m going to clean some of this dried come off you before we get to the bath, or you’re going to get really uncomfortable.”

Dean nods, his eyes falling closed. As Castiel wets a towel and uses it to clean four rounds of come from Dean’s chest and stomach, he hopes Dean’s head will stay clear of any shame this time. He’s going to let him know how good he did, again and again, but right now isn’t the right time. Now, they’ll take a bath.

Castiel helps Dean over the edge of the tub and seats him down in the middle. He sits behind Dean himself so he has access to his shoulders and back better, but mostly, it’s so he can press him against his chest and hold him close. The second Castiel wraps his arms around him, Dean relaxes against his chest and sighs contentedly. His hair smells like sweat and their previous shower, and Castiel hopes he could reach all the way to Dean’s soul by placing kisses on the top of his head.

“Nice,” Dean says eventually. “Sorry, I’m tired. Words are slow.”

“Unless you’re making pop culture references, it seems,” Castiel says, running his fingertips on Dean’s arms. The oil makes their skins soft and slippery, and Castiel starts adding pressure with his thumbs.

“What can I say,” Dean hums.

Castiel huffs and proceeds with his ministrations; he slowly massages Dean’s wrists, his forearms and biceps, and by the time he gets to his shoulders, Dean’s stomach rumbles.

“I do have food planned for you,” Castiel tells him; Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

“Didn’t we just eat?”

“I believe that was before your quadruple orgasm.”

“Huh,” Dean’s voice is confused, no, it’s surprised, “that really happened, then.”

Castiel chooses this moment to wrap his arms around Dean again. “Yes, and it was beautiful. You really indulged me today.”

“I —” The sorry is on the tip of his tongue, and Castiel’s so pleased Dean reels it back in. “I didn’t know I was able to do that.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, placing a chaste kiss on Dean’s shoulder now. “Then I’m truly blessed to get your first. You’re magnificent, Dean.”

Dean huffs. “You don’t have to… You know. You don’t have to speak like that anymore. We’re no longer in a scene.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“A little, I mean — no, it doesn’t, except when I know you’re just trying to make me feel good about myself. I don’t need to be babied. I can handle the blanket statement of this was nice and we can watch movies or something.”

“Dean, can you turn around so you’re facing me?”

Dean groans, but spins around on the slippery bottom of the tub. Instead of making this demanding and forcing Dean to look at him, Castiel presses their foreheads together. He feels Dean melting at the touch a little, and it’s heartening to notice they’re both as affected by simple touch.

“If you want me to tell you that this was nice and go watch movies, I’ll give you that. But it’s not what I want to give you; nor do I believe that’s what you need right now. You’re right in that I no longer need to do anything that I’d do in a scene…” he sighs gently. Dean bumps their noses together; a sign that he’s listening, and encouraging him to continue. “But I want you to understand I don’t lie in scenes, either. I praise you when you deserve it, and I truly mean my words when I do. I call you beautiful because I think you are beautiful, in our out of scene. And when I tell you that you did amazing, I mean it, and no ifs and buts about it.”

“Hmm,” Dean manages. “Am I allowed to kiss you now?”

“Didn’t we include kissing in our arrangement? Yes, we did. You wanted kisses always. Pretty sure this counts as always.”

Dean smiles in a way that radiates happiness, and Castiel drinks it from his lips. They never deepen the kiss, and it’s perfect just like that.

 

After Castiel finishes massaging Dean’s thighs and the very ticklish parts where they meet his hips, they leave the bath for dinner. Since Dean mentioned movies, they decide to watch some; food is eaten on the couch, under a woolen blanket, their thighs constantly touching. It’s some classic movies they watch, neither of them too occupied with them but on each other instead. Dean’s legs are on Castiel’s lap, and when he’s not busy stuffing his face with a homemade burger, he caresses whatever parts of them he can reach.

They sleep, too. Castiel changes the sheets while Dean is curled up in a blanket, finishing a movie neither of them really watched. Although they start with spooning, Dean turns around soon enough and curls up against Castiel’s chest — Castiel looks at him, bewildered by the amount of trust and love he’s shown and wonders if Dean’s ever had the possibility to bathe in affection like this. Wanting to have even more of it feels selfish, but Castiel can’t seem to stop.


	14. Ton rire résonne et puis s’enfuit

Nobody’s told Dean that he isn’t allowed in the circus audience, so there’ll be hell freezing over before he stays away. Knowing Castiel’s going to perform a number he hasn’t done since he last was exclusive with someone — well, that’s Dean’s assumption of the words of Castiel’s friends, anyway — makes it that much more crucial. He wants to be there, he wants to support Castiel, and sort of selfishly, he wants to see him again. It’s been three days since he left the treehouse, and they’ve texted back and forth and called each other before falling asleep, but it’s not enough. Dean’s head spins at the mere thought of Castiel, and at times, he’s overwhelmed by the realization that they’ve actually kissed, that they’re both attracted to each other physically, that this — whatever it is — is requited.

Well, to a point, it is. There’s a part of Dean’s that absolutely thirsty to leap over whatever they’ve got left between friends and full-time lovers, and tell Castiel he’ll never think loving like Castiel does could be suffocating for him. Of course, he doesn’t know that for sure; still, considering just how starved for touch and love Dean is, he hardly finds it possible that someone could love him too loudly.

If all of this wasn’t enough… He can’t stop thinking about their last night together.

After two days at the treehouse, Castiel had grown restless and wanted to return home. When Dean suggested he’d go home, Castiel had absolutely denied him from even thinking such nonsense, and so they’d ended up sleeping on the loft bed.

Except that for some god-forsaken reason, Dean had woken up with an anxiety attack. Castiel had held him through it without freaking out, which was a miracle in itself, but when their cuddling had turned to kisses and their kisses to Castiel opening himself up with a lube he’d had under the mattress — and he just gently straddled him, not even being able to sit fully but crouching over him, and slowly rocked him into completion… Well, that was something else entirely. Dean remembers his mind being overwhelmed with the thought of oh god this is not a scene this is not a scene and we’re doing this, and he remembers Castiel smiling through their kisses.

He shivers at the thought and gives himself one more once-over in the mirror before heading out. Returning to the mansion had been scary at first, but after Dorothy came in to burn some locally sourced sage, he’s felt safer. It’s funny now to think that there were no witches or other supernatural beings inside the castle walls; the more Dean meets people, the more divergence he sees. It’s wonderful, but it does also make him a little sad — what if there was a reason the castle was strictly human, and what if that reason was prejudice?

The circus is almost full of people, which is lovely. Sure, some of the people are sheer rubbernecks willing to see if someone dies tonight, but profit is profit and Dean’s happy that their turnover is going to look great tonight. He takes a seat at the end of the middle row next to the main entrance, and glances around the space to see what the circus has planned for tonight.

It feels like forever since Dean first saw Ceri onstage. He remembers him performing with Dayo and Jo, and even more clearly, he remembers _L’oiseau._

He remembers clearly how mesmerized he was by Castiel moving, how the dramatics had caught him, how the French horn broke his heart.

He frowns. There’s one thing he’s blissfully forgotten — _the Winchester crest._ Until now, he’d completely forgotten that he was supposed to ask Castiel where he got the inspiration for that number — or if he hasn’t written it himself, who was it by. What’s up with the crest, the Sanan court colors, and why were the Winchesters portrayed as hunters. Dean knows his dad has caused trouble to people, left some of his affairs hanging, and overall not always played fair, so in a way, it does make sense that someone has it out for him.

Yet it feels far more personal than that.

He could still ask Castiel, but something makes him think he shouldn’t. Maybe it’s because Castiel’s got too much on his plate already, or maybe it’s because they’ve got a good thing going on and since it could simply be a style someone saw once, Dean shouldn’t put a damper on their relationship just because he’s insecure about the family he had no choice but to be born into.

 

Like always, the show is great. Many of the artists have put their best foot forward and come up with a whole new routine — at least compared to what they’ve had before, because it’s not like Dean has plenty of experience from anything besides the past couple of weeks. Knowing some of these people as well as he does helps Dean see that some of them are stressed about the current state of the circus; no surprises there. Also, Rowena missing makes the pace completely different, but they’re still pulling it off on their own.

Nobody still reaches Ceri’s level of skill and dramatics. It’s overwhelming to see how much his performance changes now that Dean knows him a little better; he knows he’s a dramatic performer because he’s a dramatic lover, and everything in his numbers are always thought out and planned from start to finish — courtesy of him guiding people through scenes. A short blip of jealousy passes Dean’s mind as he realizes he’s not the first person to have Castiel like this, but it passes quick. Why should he be? He’s the one he has _now_ , and that’s all that matters.

 _Tonight, tonight_ is a story about leaving. Dean tries to not interpret it as leaving a romantic relationship, because it’s only what he thinks what it is about — he tries to see it as leaving the circumstances he’s been raised in, and taking his own space and controlling his own fate. The stage is lit in browns and dark reds, and Ceri’s wearing a dimly shimmering costume that consists of a damn three-piece suit and a top hat. It must be hot and hard to move in, but he does look devastatingly handsome. His moves around the lyra are just as composed as always, but Dean admits he’s both biased and overlooking so many details in his desire to touch Castiel’s beautiful, long limbs, sink his fingers into his hair and kiss him senseless.

He loves kissing Castiel. He loves how it makes him feel like he’s precious and protected, and he loves how he can feel the awe in Castiel’s lips; that he’s so pleasantly surprised that Dean wants his touch. It makes Dean want to get the numbers for Cas’ ex-boyfriends anyway and go punch them around a little just for ever making Castiel feel like he’s too much.

Okay, maybe not punch. That’s behavior Dean doesn’t want to inherit from his father. He’s not a puncher, he’s a Vonnegut quoter.

He’s just about to launch himself into a thunderous applause with the rest of the audience, when the picture shifts.

It’s just like back at the mansion — everything turns a little muggy and blurred, and Dean feels like he’s put on glasses that are only almost suitable for his vision. It’s not quite double-vision that he’s getting, but the lines are wiggly and… uncertain.

The audience seats are all empty, like nobody was there to begin with. Surely Dean would’ve noticed if they all left? He didn’t fall asleep while Castiel was performing, did he?

No, Ceri’s still hanging from the lyra. He’s holding on with both hands, and even all the way from here, Dean can see his eyes are open wide. He’s frightened.

“What’s going on?” A voice comes from backstage. “What happened to the music?”

That’s right, the music disappeared. Suddenly, Dean feels the silence loud enough to hurt; he puts his hands on his ears and tries to inhale and exhale calmly, but his ears are ringing too loud. His pulse starts to accelerate — apparently, it took his body this long to catch up with the sense of danger. Adrenaline pushes through his veins, leaving him skittish and shivering, and as he gets up, he feels like his legs won’t move.

But that’s not all. Castiel is slowly descending from the ceiling, and he’s absolutely, terrifyingly still. While Dean hurts upon seeing him like this, he’s also strangely comforted: At least he’s not seeing and feeling things that aren’t there.

“Aren’t we supposed to be in the middle of a show?” Alicia asks. She walks up to the stage from the back entrance and looks at Castiel. “Are you alright in there?”

“I —” Castiel’s voice is hoarse and he clears his throat. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I was just thrown in for a loop here. What just happened?”

“It seems the lock shifted,” a masculine voice comes from out back. “How unfortunate.”

“Crowley,” Castiel says. “What did you do? Is Rowena alright?”

“Of course she is, lad,” the man says. It’s hard to say in the dim light, but _Crowley_ looks like a shoemaker. “What would I do without mommy dearest?”

“I thought you’d be with her now,” Alicia says. Both her and Castiel’s voice let Dean know just how little he’s wanted around.

“Well, not that you low-grade witch need to know that, but I was,” he says, sighing dramatically, “but it turns out there was something I needed to do. Say, Castiel, do your feet still feel weird?”

Castiel’s feet touch the ground as he lets go of the lyra. He looks down at his bare toes, and frowns.

“I don’t know. Right now, they feel good enough.”

“Oh, then you’re further down than I thought,” Crowley says with a laugh that’s almost a cheerful fucking giggle.

“Further what?”

Dean feels his body shake violently. It’s like there’s an external force that’s trying to wrench a piece of meat back up his windpipe, and he coughs. Nobody seems to be paying attention to him right now which, honestly, isn’t a surprise considering the menacing tension onstage right now.

“Further down, I said,” Crowley says, pointing to Castiel’s feet. “Look at that. Such a short life in a much shorter span.”

“That doesn’t even mean anything. Try to be less edgy, old guy,” Alicia says. Crowley frowns at her and snaps his fingers. Immediately, Alicia is gone.

“Where’d you take her?” Castiel hisses. Crowley tuts.

“All in good time, _Cherie_.”

“It’s pronounced _Ceri_.”

“How clever of you, wee boy,” Crowley pats Castiel’s cheek. “Any last words?”

Another shake crosses Dean’s body, and this one is enough to startle him so hard he bends down and wraps himself under the seats. Safer here. So much safer.

“Oh my god,” Castiel says, his voice full with realization. “Where am I?”

“What?” Crowley seems perplexed.

“Where the fuck am I, Fergus? Are you behind this? Where am I placed, physically, right fucking now?”

“You’re onstage at Eden, obviously, with the prince himself,” he tries. Castiel’s having none of it.

“No. You tell me where the fuck I am, or I swear to god, I will destroy you.”

The sound of a tongue clicking. Crowley’s considering.

“Well, it’s not like a lot of people are around for you, anyway,” he says, and there’s a shuffling Dean guesses means he’s gesturing around him at the tent right now. “You’re under the treehouse.”

Dean almost misses the end of the sentence, because what he sees is a lot more important: Way up, almost closing in on the ceiling, is a trapeze. There, on the platform, a small shining _something_ is twirling in the air, and instantly, Dean’s mind takes him back to Missouri’s final words on his first visit. _In desperation, there’s a silver lining that can be stretched out to make a guideline._

Dean realizes he needs to try to get up there. He probably should keep himself out of Castiel and Crowley’s line of sight just in case they’d get mad that he’s been eavesdropping. Has he been eavesdropping? He didn’t keep his presence a secret to begin with. Well, better safe than sorry.

Just as he straightens himself, his body shakes for the third time. This time, it’s enough to jostle him awake.

 

*

 

“Wow,” Baz says dryly. “He lives.”

“Sorry,” Dean whispers. He tries to make his body work with him enough to bring him up to a seated position, but it takes forever and three tries. Lisa instantly pulls him a bit backwards to he can rest against a wall. It smells like hay and horses, but it still takes him a while to realize he’s at the stables now. A crowd of people are with him — he quickly recognizes Alicia and Max, Jo, a woman he doesn’t know the stage OR the real name of, and of course, Lisa and Baz.

“What happened to me?”

“Found you here,” Max says. “You’ve been sleeping on the hay. Any idea what that’s about?”

Dean sighs, feeling the tremor in his breath. So he had, what, passed out while on his way to the circus? Had the whole episode with Crowley and Castiel been a dream? He quickly shoots a look at Alicia, who looks back with worry.

“Were we in the tent before?” he asks her.

She frowns, and Dean can see a world of thoughts pass through her mind in a second. “Not that I know of, no.”

Dean deflates. “Must’ve been a dream. I… Crowley was there, and so were you, and Castiel – Crowley was threatening him and, shit, it’s all a mess now. Where’s Castiel?”

Shit, he forgot to call him Ceri. That’s going to sting later. Baz probably wishes his eyes could shoot daggers, but he should rest assured that his expression comes pretty close.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t heard of him today,” Lisa says. She digs up her phone. “Weird. He usually shoots me a text at some point.”

“Didn’t you have a performance today? What happened to that?”

Awkward glances get exchanged in the room. Dean’s heart sinks — he knows he’s just said something ridiculous but doesn’t yet know, what it is.

“It’s Wednesday, Dean,” Jo eventually tells him.

He swallows to keep his impending hysteria down.

“Have I been face-first in the hay for fucking four days?!”

“No, you would’ve been seen,” Baz muses, mostly to himself.

“Anyway,” Lisa presses on, “where _is_ he?”

“Where’s who?”

A voice from the doorway startles them all. It’s a young man, barely in his twenties, with bewildered blue eyes and a saddle that he carries on his hip.

“Alfie,” Lisa says, gently as if she’s trying not to startle a deer, “have you seen Ceri?”

“Last night,” he says and clears his throat. “He said he was going home.”

A hollow feeling keeps on tugging at his heartstrings. With a sigh, he rubs his eyes.

“We should get to his house, I guess.”

 

*

 

It takes a while before Castiel opens the door for them. He looks groggy and is fresh out from the shower, and Dean clenches his fists so he doesn’t try to reach out to him.

Alicia is clever – she immediately walks through the house a couple of times to make sure everything’s safe both in this world and beyond. Dean just takes a seat at the table and puts his face in his hands.

He’d been stable enough until they got here. Now, he feels his social energy is depleted and he needs to sleep for another week – only this time, preferably in a bed.

People are talking, but Dean doesn’t fully register any of it. He’s unable to process what’s happened since he left the mansion today; although now that he thinks about it, it was not even today, but four days ago. When did it get this complicated? Although if this even slightly resembles what Castiel’s life is like, no wonder he wants to feel in control every once in a while.

“Well, I _am_ sorry for not answering my phone,” Castiel says, snapping Dean back into reality. His voice is frustrated and he’s so tired, and briefly, Dean wishes he could talk this out alone with Castiel. It’s a selfish thought, and their friends deserve better. “But I think we need to talk about everything we’ve been through so far.”

 “Are you sure you’re up for it? Not gonna lie, you seem like you’d rather snort grovel,” the girl Dean still doesn’t know the name of asks. She seems genuinely worried. Dean likes her.

“There might not be much time, so yes, Meg, I’m sure. I might be tired, but I’d rather keep you all here if that’s alright.”

“I don’t think we’d leave even if you’d ask us to,” Lisa says gently. She turns to look at Dean. “How about him, though?”

“He was the one who had the dream,” Baz says with a squint in his eyes that implies he’s blaming Dean for everything that’s happened to the circus so far.

“I’m right here,” Dean says, leaning his elbow on the table. “Don’t talk to me like I wasn’t.”

“Well, to be honest, you do seem like you’re about to fall asleep any minute,” Castiel says gently. There’s something in his eyes Dean doesn’t recognize, but he hopes they get to explore it together later tonight.

“I’ll make the tea,” Max says and steps towards the kettle. “Everyone want some?”

There’s mutters of confirmation all around, and while waiting for the water to boil, Castiel puts varieties of tea on the table. It reminds Dean of the first time he visited Missouri, but now he chooses blackberry automatically — the gesture isn’t lost on Castiel, who smiles up at him with a genuine fondness in his eyes. Dean puts a hand on his mouth so he doesn’t just spit out words he shouldn’t say in this company.

 

Eventually, they’re all settled around the table. It’s full, the table is small, and some of them casually just brought food from Castiel’s fridge like they own the place. Castiel doesn’t seem to mind, though, and as soon as everyone’s quiet, he starts to talk.

“The first thing you need to know is that I’ve been having visions. I’ve seen these… demon-like creatures lurking at the edges of most place we’ve occupied. They don’t come here, or the treehouse – but they’ve been at the bar, at the circus, and in town. I don’t think it was a coincidence that they were there the night Ember died, no matter how much they’re going to list is as suicide.”

Castiel waits for someone to say something, but when everyone seems at a loss for words, he continues.

“I’ve also felt time fluctuate around the demons. Sometimes it feels like time is slowing down, sometimes like it’s accelerating.” Does any of this sound familiar to you?”

“I’ve felt someone’s presence, but it hasn’t been that specific,” Alicia says, “I wonder why.”

“For as long as I’ve remembered, Rowena has called me her latch key child. If all of this is a side effect to the quantum lock breaking, maybe my connection with her makes me the one who sees it the best.”

Alicia sighs. “I need to think about this. Some things are hidden from me because I’m a witch and other witches know this, but usually when I’m kept something at least I _know_ someone’s keeping something from me.”

“Maybe someone’s too strong for us,” Max says, already grimacing and for a reason; Alicia doesn’t take the remark well. She huffs dramatically and crosses her arms, but does at least realize this isn’t about her pride now.

Just when Baz is about to speak, one of Castiel’s whirring machines explodes. There’s no better word to describe it — suddenly, it screeches to a halt like someone’s put a cog in the wheel, and breaks apart with enough force to scatter parts around the apartment. Some land in tea cups, some up the loft bed, and some hit the window all the way across the room.

“Holy shit!” Lisa yells. “What’s happening?”

“Someone doesn’t like to be meddled with,” Max whispers. “Alicia, can it be fixed?”

“No, the protection is gone.”

Dean frowns. “Are they for protection?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Castiel says, nodding firmly. “They were given to me by Pamela when I moved here. They secure me from any and all spiritual foul play when I’m here. I’ve got one in the treehouse too, but it’s placed on the south wall outside so nobody sees it. I can only assume that’s the reason the demons never got in here.”

 “That’s about to change,” Alicia mutters. “Something’s coming. Something strong enough to break through the defenses and come get us right here.”

Castiel works his jaw, staring at the tabletop with a startling certainty in his eyes.

“Guys, we need to leave this town.”

The other machine explodes with a loud clang and instantly, everything goes pitch black.


	15. Mon cœur n’est plus comme avant

Clattering around the room implies that people are running for cover. Dean simply drops off the chair and crawls under the table. If he doesn’t think about the feeling of drowning, the darkness really takes him back to their game of Cut Throat Killer.

For a moment, it’s silent. Then, a thrumming sound comes from the outside.

“Do the rest of you hear that?” Castiel asks from somewhere closer to the door.

“Yes,” someone answers. “Sounds like footsteps. Like… Hundreds of footsteps.”

“You’re right,” another voice, probably Lisa, says.

A hissing sound comes from the corner of the room. Dean turns towards it, and there’s a dim gray light coming from under the cupboard. He dimly thinks it’s mighty handy for demons that they’re able to come in through cracks in the foundation of the house, but as the light grows brighter, he looks away. It hurts his eyes.

The hissing turns into a whisper, and it takes a while for it to start forming words.

_But look, for even in death he’s drifting,_

_Facing heavens his bones weren’t to reach_

_No solace in the ether between the breaths_

_Between his second last and last_

Dean’s not sure what to focus on — that it sounds like the person is rasping words out backwards, or that he’s citing The Drowned Prince.

Since he’s probably the only person in the room with a Sanan background, it feels surprisingly personal.

The hissing returns, only to morph into growling and then bellowing that takes hold of everything else; Dean’s whole body from his toenails to his eyeballs is shaking with the power, and he grouches lower only to realize it doesn’t help at all — and then someone opens the door and he realizes he needs to get out right now. It’s pretty much just limbs and elevated breaths until they’re downstairs. Castiel makes a quick headcount and they’re all here, but the relief is short-lived.

Hundreds of people are walking towards the circus. This must be where the sound was coming from earlier; citizens of Grand Falls are marching like they’ve got purpose. Their eyes seem vacant, and it’s fucking scary as hell.

“I think it’s safe to say that the demons got in,” Meg says. “Now what, Clarence?”

“We protect these people,” Castiel replies, “they’re innocent.”

“I don’t know. This might be a trap,” Baz mutters.

“Yes, it definitely is a trap. Now, what are we going to do about it? Someone’s behind this. Someone’s behind the demons, behind me almost drowning, behind the quantum lock breaking.”

“I don’t think we could do it without Rowena,” Lisa says, “although you are her latch key kid and if anyone could do it, it’s you.”

“I’m pretty sure we can. She either needs our help out there, or she needs someone to fight. I’ll be there to provide whatever it is.”

Castiel’s words leave no room for negotiation, and he knows it; he starts walking towards the circus tent briskly, not seeing if the rest of them are following. He doesn’t have to, because ultimately he knows they need to make their own decisions, and as wild as Dean’s mind is running with the possibility of just turning on his heels and running back to the mansion…

The thing is, he can’t help but think about how of all the things the demon under Castiel’s cupboard could’ve been citing, it decided on The Drowned Prince. Is it a sign? Did it just happen to feel like going through some underworldly library and stumble upon Sanan folklore? Because from where Dean’s standing, it’s way too convenient and could suggest the prince is actually close by. Jacques hasn’t called after that night that the demons entered the mansion, so Dean’s got no intel on whether there’s been newer sightings since.

As he starts walking after Castiel, he realizes that in theory, he could’ve been hanging out with the prince already. Circus is a place for people to run off to, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to hear that the prince took the same route. Surely he’d have noticed, though? But no, no, how could he have without knowing what the prince looks like as an adult…

There’s people who have the dialect of someone out of Canada; Balthazar, for starters. He sure has a royal vibe about him, and even though Dean’s bad with facial features, sure, he could be the King’s child. He’s arrogant, a natural leader-type, but also loyal.

There’s also Crowley, who literally called himself a prince in Dean’s dream. He doesn’t know a single thing about the guy, but with a fetch higher than the moon, he could be the prince and his mother could be the disappeared Queen?

Queen Rowena. It does seem right.

Then, Dean thinks grimly, there’s Castiel. He’s evasive about his past, he says he’s been raised in strict circumstances… But then again, don’t most of the people in the circus fit these descriptions?

While Dean’s been thinking, his feet have taken him to the currently crowded entrance of the circus. Castiel’s already gone in, and just as Dean’s about to do the same, a hand catches him by the elbow.

“Hey,” Lisa says. “Maybe we should all do this together.”

Everyone has followed Dean — or maybe they’ve walked by his side all the time, he’s not sure. He nods silently and Baz gestures for them to circle around the back.

 

*

 

The people must have been told to wait outside since the tent is still almost empty. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think Castiel has been at the circus for a longer time than the crucial thirty seconds. He’s onstage, talking to someone — no, it definitely sounds more like arguing. Balthazar waves them to hide behind some stage props and then, they’re listening in.

“I have done everything — everything! For you, and this is how you thank me?”

The voice belongs to Rowena.

“I’ve always wanted to believe in the best of you! But if you’re always going to turn your back on me whenever there’s a chance—”

“I’ve never turned my back on you, Ceri!”

Castiel says something else, but his voice is drowned by Crowley’s, who’s coming in from the back entrance. Luckily, he’s too busy being pompous to see the six of them bent over behind the chipboard forest.

“Mother! I’ve got the people waiting for you outside. Good citizens of Grand Falls all cooped up for you. Oh! Hi, Cherie. What’s up?”

“What exactly are you planning to do?”

Rowena sighs — Dean can only tell it’s her because she does it aloud. “The quantum lock needs redoing. It’s not going to hold.”

“Okay. So far, makes sense. What does that have to do with the people out there?”

“Well, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs, can you, lad,” Crowley’s voice is mocking.

Lisa whimpers. Meg puts a hand over her mouth to shut her up.

“Fergus, that’s enough,” Rowena hisses. “We didn’t bring the people here so you could threaten to kill them.”

“What is the point of having a brainwashed angry mob if we can’t utilize them, mother?”

“They were merely brought to get my latch key child to arrive. Now, if you’re done fuming, dear Ceri, we can talk terms.”

Dean holds his breath, trying to hear every word in the conversation. At times, it’s hard because someone next to him is shuffling or his leg falls asleep and he needs to rearrange his limbs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, you’re the one who ruined everything. I would like to know how you’re planning we proceed from here.”

“I’m sorry, I —”

“You were the one who revealed your true identity to an outsider!” Crowley bellows. “You were the one who my mother was supposed to count on, you were here from the start, and you failed!”

“I know what you’re implying, and I know what everyone is implying, even my friends — but I haven’t told anyone about my identity.”

“Not even Dean?” Crowley coos.

“Not even Dean. Rowena, do you really believe that I’d jeopardize all the people I’ve learned to call my family?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You have been sneaking around behind our backs.”

“I’d spare the blame for now,” another voice chimes in. Since when were there four people in the tent? “I think we all know who’s really to blame for this.”

The voice sounds familiar. Dean tries to sneak a glance over the shrubbery, but it’s so dark it’s hard to see —

“Sammy?” Dean says. Sure enough, his brother is standing there, in the middle of the room, arms crossed and face furious. When he hears Dean’s voice, he turns towards them and frowns.

“Dean?”

Someone punches Dean on his arm to shut him up, but everything is rearranging in Dean’s head right now; he needs to save his brother because for some reason he’s here and currently facing a witch and an undoubtedly evil man… And Castiel.

“Oh! How nice,” Crowley says. “Come here, Dean.”

Dean rises up, carefully not to give away that he’s not alone, and walks to the circle. Castiel gives him a look that’s filled with — with something Dean can’t place.

“Now, isn’t this nifty. Both Winchesters under the same roof,” Crowley hums, placing his fingertips against each other. “Now, Dean, I’ll get to you later. Sam, though… What brings you here?”

“I came to warn Jasper,” he replies. “Because you’ve found him and leaked his whereabouts, the King is sending a cavalry tomorrow to bring you back home.”

It takes Dean a while to realize Sam’s looking at Castiel. He follows his gaze only to realize Castiel’s staring at him, his mouth open, taking a couple of steps backwards when he does.

What is going _on_?

 

“Winchester,” Castiel whispers. “You’re Dean Winchester?”

Dean frowns, and suddenly, an universe of information passes through his brain at once.

Castiel is Prince Jasper.

Castiel is the man he was once supposed to marry.

The reason for his journey here has been in front of him all this time.

Coming towards me. So fast he could be running in through the door right now.

“Oh, so you didn’t know!” Crowley says. “So unfortunate. Well!”

“Would you shut your hole for one minute, Fergus!” Rowena yells at him. “Castiel, we need to talk. I called you here because I wanted to tell you something.”

Castiel just nods.

“I wanted to tell you what’s going to happen. It’s true that the quantum lock is broken now; my son has broken it. I hate that he did this to me, because I had a good thing going on here, but eh, once you get children, you can just prepare to be disappointed by them day after day after day. Well, I don’t have enough left for a spell for another quantum lock. The ingredients are gone, and they take more years to grow and harvest than most of you have left of life. However, there’s another spell I could perform. It’s more of a quantum leap than a lock. I could turn back time to return to how things were a year ago. It wouldn’t change anything; this end is still coming. You wouldn’t remember any of it, though, and I could play you a little more time to be free — all of you. If we let this play through, none of my children are going to be safe. You’ll all need to run for your past again. It’ll all be over.”

Castiel nods again and swallows. “And if we go back a year… We’ll forget everything that has happened during the year? Just relive it, exactly, to this point?”

“Yes, that would be correct.”

Castiel crouches, placing a hand on his mouth to consider this. Sam frowns, clearing his throat.

“Here’s what doesn’t make sense to me. You call the situation a quantum lock, as if you’re locked in time. However, it’s basically a concealment spell you have here? Why would you call that a quantum lock if —”

“If you haven’t actually locked your children in time,” Dean finishes the sentence for Sam. They look at each other for a moment, a mutual understanding running between them. “How many times has your latch key child made the decision to keep others safe? How many times have they lived the same year over and over again?”

Rowena looks up at the ceiling, considering her options with almost a coy expression. “I don’t think I’m obligated to answer that question.”

Castiel, still crouched, huffs. “But I’m obliged to answer all of yours. Makes sense.”

Some of the lights flicker on the back end of the tent, and Rowena sighs. “We’re running out of time. The demons are everywhere, and there’s not much to keep them away. So, what are you going to choose? Do you want to extend your friends’ safety, or do you want to start running?”

“I don’t think the choice is his alone,” Meg says. The whole group Dean came in with has escaped their hiding place and are now standing on the edge of the spotlight aimed at the middle of the tent.

“Oh, people are just gonna keep right on coming, aren’t they,” Crowley groans. “Talk about cliches.”

“Castiel,” Balthazar says. He walks up to him and takes a seat on the ground. “Can you remember making this decision before?”

“Right now, yes. I can remember sitting here before. Countless times before. How does it work? How can I have been here before, but also not have been here? Is the whole world standing still?”

Dean listens to Balthazar calming Castiel down with some well-chosen words and wants nothing more than to do the same. He wants to go to him, tell him that they’re going to be fine, and that there’s nothing in this world that could make Dean want to return Castiel to the castle. Then he looks up at Sam and realizes it’s not exactly true; Sam’s still got his job at stake. As for himself… He could blow glass anywhere. It’s not important for him to maintain his court job.

There’s nothing screaming at him from the inside now that he knows Castiel is the prince — except maybe a fierce need to protect him.

The rest of Castiel’s friends also surround him and he decides to walk up to Sam himself. They exchange a short hug.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re coming?”

“I found out this morning that the King is setting up troops. I was in a rush and only really had time to say goodbye to Eileen.”

 “Sounds like you did end up inheriting some of dad’s genes after all,” Dean says, running a hand through his hair. “Wait, who’s Eileen?”

Sam grimaces, looking absolutely guilty. “Maybe not the best place for a conversation like this.”

Dean watches Rowena and Crowley talk animatedly to each other, and then at the group of circus talents talking about how their lives could either never proceed or never be safe again. Well, it seems like nobody remembers to be mad at the Winchester family right now.

“Good a time as any, it seems,” Dean says, crossing his arms. “A chick, huh?”

“Yes. She’s the librarian at the castle, and we’ve been talking,” Sam says and clears his throat. “Actually, there’s something you should know.”

He knows what Sam is going to say. For some reason, the realization makes him burst into an ill-timed laughter.

“Seriously, Sam?”

“Seriously, what?”

“She’s the reason you want to go on adventures? There’s a girl you want to take on a ride?”

“Well, for far more than a ride. Dean, I really like her. We’ve been reading so many travel books together, ate lunch, and spoken way more than I’ve ever talked with anyone else, and I just want to board a train and see the world.”

Dean pinches his lips together and nods. “I get what you mean.”

“So you have found someone,” Sam huffs, “I wondered about it when you stopped bored-texting me.”

“I took your advice, yes,” Dean mutters. “Unfortunately, though, the more I’m trying to not do what my dad wants, the more I end up doing exactly that.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean nods towards Castiel. “I’ve fallen in love with my future husband.”

Sam slaps a hand against his mouth to stifle his laughter. “No fucking way.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and nods. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Alright,” Balthazar says. “We’ve reached a decision.”


	16. Il est entré dans mon cœur

Castiel stands up, swallows, coughs as if he’s testing whether his voice still works, and opens his mouth.

“We’re not going to let you have us any longer.”

Rowena gasps. She tries to look appalled, like they’ve insulted her, and Dean wonders if it’s fake – it does seem like she’s been using the circus talents for her own financial and personal gain for a long time. She might only feel sorry for herself.

Then, another expression forms on her face; one that’s a lot more intense, determined, and frightening.

“I’m sorry, I don’t hear you,” she says, staring at Castiel. “My child, how far you have floated.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Baz asks.

In an instant, Rowena lifts her hands up. She yells an incantation and a flash fills the room – it’s so bright Dean has to shield his eyes with an arm, and the white noise that surrounds them makes him nauseous. Then, just as fast, it’s gone.

So is Castiel.

“What the hell did you do?” Dean yells. He only realizes he started walking when he stops right in front of Rowena. She smirks.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he had more important things to attend to.”

“Where is he?”

Crowley huffs a laugh. “Have you tried yelling? Cherie! Where are you!”

Something in his voice flashes Dean back to his dream; Castiel talking to Crowley, Alicia being there –

_He’s under the treehouse._

Yelling at everyone to follow him, he starts running.

 

At first, nothing seems wrong. It’s like a monsoon has hit Grand Falls and it makes everything slippery and wet, and it does make the treehouse seem a little forlorn — but other than that, there’s nothing. They walk up and the door is, obviously, locked. Lisa starts banging it with her palm and yelling curses at Castiel for not opening up, but the rest of them kind of just stand there, helpless. Nobody feels like talking, so most of the time, they don’t; at times, Alicia and Max exchange short words about the weather. Dean overhears words like _supernatural_ and _bad omens_ , which is super nice. Letting the others make sure Castiel’s not inside, Dean skips down the stairs as fast as he’s physically capable of. Once he’s there, though, he hears at least some people coming after him, which is probably for the best — who the hell knows what he’s up against.

There’s nothing directly under the treehouse, but the forest floor on his right starts lowering gradually. The rain has turned everything to mush; dirt has mixed up with gravel to make this brown, surprisingly liquid goo that feels deceiving under Dean’s shoes. It’s flowing downwards rapidly, taking some small branches and deadwood along. Dean’s soaking wet, shivering all over, and his lungs feel like he’s underwater, but he needs to find him. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does, but neither does the thought of Castiel missing from his life forever.

Then, the mud takes hold of his leg like a physical being, and he trips. It’s a blessing in disguise, because the second he’s not moving anymore, he hears shouting.

“Dean!”

It’s Sam. He, Alicia, and Jo are running downhill to catch up with him, and as soon as they make it to him, he’s lifted back up on his feet.

“You alright?” Sam asks. Dean looks at his disgusting, brown, soaked clothes and groans.

“No promises.”

“Oh shit,” Alicia says and takes Dean by the arm. “You were right to come here.”

She already starts running, and even though Dean doesn’t know what he’s right with, he tags along. It’s only a couple of minutes to the river, and once they reach it, Alicia claps her hands against each other and brings them to her mouth. She walks back and forth the riverbank, looking around at all times, until suddenly, she yelps.

“Further,” she mutters and starts running down the bank. Dean glances at Sam, who’s too invested to notice. Jo, on the other hand, gives Dean a confused grimace.

After a couple minutes of running through the rain, they reach a waterfall. Alicia hops onto the rocks to continue down, and somehow makes it seem effortless. After running, Dean’s body wants to call it quits and just lay down, and every step he takes down the slippery rocks feels like it could be his last. As soon as Alicia is down, she yells at them to hurry, and Dean’s just about to protest out loud when he sees it.

Alicia’s already got a hold of Castiel — or, rather, that’s who Dean assumes the hand belongs to. There’s a small pool to the side of the waterfall where the water moves slowly, and the mud has gathered into it as if on purpose.

No, it _is_ on purpose. This is what happens to the runaway prince of Sanan.

It takes effort, but between the four of them, they manage to get Castiel out. He’s unresponsive but breathing, his airways sound alright according to Jo, and when Alicia cleans his face with her hand, he manages to open his eyes a little. Dean’s lucky his brain is completely calling it quits now, because it allows him to help the others in carrying Castiel out of the woods.

 

*

 

Castiel just wants to sleep and never wake up again.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

He’s broken, he’s tired, he still feels like he’s choking, and if all of that wasn’t bad enough, he feels his heart is ripped right from his chest.

Dean is a _Winchester_.

He’s not the reason the quantum lock broke, but he could as well be.

He’d been looking for Prince Jasper the whole time he’d been here. Hell, Castiel had helped Dean and Charlie in finding _himself_.

The call Dean got had been about _him_ walking in the district. It’s also entirely possible that the person that Castiel saw that night was Crowley, seeing that he was the one who eventually gave his location away.

It could have been Dean.

Castiel’s head supplies beautiful images of Dean writhing and moaning under him; Castiel riding them both to an orgasm; how Dean had looked at him when he’d shared his deepest secrets about how deeply he loves.

He’d looked gentle and understanding, but there’d been a challenge in his eyes.

_Try me._

And how Castiel had wanted to…

No point in thinking about that, he guesses, although it’s very telling that he’s thinking about Dean instead of how he’s been having a freaking groundhog year for as long as he can remember.

The true reason to why he doesn’t think about that too much is that it makes sense. It makes sense that the quantum lock had been breaking and started to leak in places; it makes sense that he feels he both was and wasn’t at the circus on Saturday, talking to Crowley while Dean hid behind furniture. It makes sense that time accelerated or slowed down whenever entities were nearby, and it makes a humongous amount of sense that he’s been feeling stuck.

There’s a possibility his life isn’t as monochrome as it has felt – maybe his life feels bland because it’s a rerun.

 

Rubbing his face, he finally gets up. It’s morning and the apartment above Pamela’s place is empty; he knew it would be, but it still stings. After two days with his friends taking care of his post-drowned self, they parted on good terms – for good. Spending so long in a single place had made them all more restless than they even realized, and when the truth came out, everyone was ready for something new in their lives to happen. Plenty of his friends wanted to start traveling, some just move into a bigger city and blend in. Whatever they’ll end up doing, though, will happen in their own terms and not Rowena’s.

As for Castiel, himself… He’s not sure where he heads next. He’s already started to pack, but it doesn’t feel right to leave without getting closure.

He’s just about to go on a mental tangent about who he needs to get closure with, when his phone dings.

_Hello, Jasper. It’s Sam. I thought you’d want to know that the troops will be here tonight and if you’re going to leave, now’s the time. If, however, you want to call your father, I’ve got a phone number for him here: it’s 555-236364._

As he’s still reading through the first message, the second comes.

_Dean didn’t know you were the prince._

Castiel sighs, looking out the window. Gray rain fills his vision and without thinking about it too long, he decides to call his father. They’re long overdue for a talk; this is a way for them to do it safely.

After three rings, he picks up.

“Yes?”

This must be a private number only given to a lucky few. It’s not a very kingly way of answering the phone.

“Hello, father.”

A shuffle through the line. The King was obviously still sleeping.

“Oh, hi, James. Is everything alright?”

Castiel frowns. Coughs. Frowns deeper. _What_?

“I wasn’t expecting you to call yet. Everything’s going according to plan, right? Which number are you calling from, anyway?”

“A friend’s,” Castiel replies quickly. “And yes, everything’s going the way it was planned.”

He’s not sure what the hell is happening right now, but something’s telling him this is important; that he can’t end the call without finding out who exactly does the King think he’s talking to.

“Good. So you’ve made friends already? Are they soldiers?”

“Yes. I’ve talked with many of the soldiers.”

A sigh. “We’ve talked about this, Jimmy. You don’t need to make friends with the soldiers. You need to lead them. After all, you’re going to be king very soon.”

Castiel tries to wrap his head around this. There’s a new heir to the throne?

A new heir that sounds just like him, apparently. Someone who could call the king father and the king wouldn’t even flinch.

“Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about?” his father urges him.

“So,” Castiel tries to think fast. This James guy is out with soldiers, then? Is he, by any chance, coming this way? “I just called to confirm everything’s going well. We’re on our way, and we should be there soon.”

“Good. Like I said, Jasper is probably going to be thrown by the arrival of the troops. He’ll try to make a run for it, if Rowena’s words about his character are anything to go by. They’ve tried to drown him a couple of days ago, so he should still be convalescent. Keep yourself hidden, though – in case he manages to escape, he’s going to be twice as angry if he realizes we’ve hidden his twin brother from him, do you understand?”

Castiel can hear the glass shattering in his ears.

His twin brother?

The twin brother his father told him died before even being born?

The twin brother his father sometimes wistfully sighed after to make Castiel feel guilty he took up too much space in their mother’s womb?

Prince James.

Alive, all these years. Now on his way to – to what?

“I understand,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral. “And when we catch him…”

“You know what needs to be done. Give the order to the soldiers, and they’ll give him a merciful death. It’s the only way to keep him from returning and taking the throne.”

Castiel shakes his head, mostly to himself. What a poor, misguided, weird man his father is. What a disgusting thing to tell his own son.

“Everything alright, Jimmy?”

The nickname disgusts him. He never had one – he was never that close with the king. “It’s overwhelming, is all.”

“I know. I’m glad you wanted to do this yourself. It’s very fitting. You’ll be a good king, my son.”

In his mind, he comes up with a snappy sentence he uses to reveal it’s him and not Jimmy his father is talking to. In his mind, he curses his father and hopes to never hear his traumatizing voice again.

He hangs up.

 

*

 

It’s afternoon by the time he’s done packing. His head hurts and he needs coffee provided by the artisan brewery; maybe he’d see a glimpse of Rufus and say goodbye to him as well. All his belongings are in one suitcase with wheels that rattle as he pulls it behind him. It’s loud and annoying.

He wonders if he’ll ever be on a lyra again.

It’s a sunny day, and indeed, Rufus is sitting on the table that is brought on the front again. Castiel waves at him, about to go get his coffee from the other side first, but Rufus gestures him to come over.

“Hello,” he says, drawing out the word. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, smiling at Lily sitting on the stairs, “you shouldn’t have. I’m just passing through.”

“I know. He’s inside.”

“He, who?”

Rufus nods towards the door. “Go see for yourself.”

Castiel sighs lightly and steps inside. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room after bright sunshine, but as soon as they do, a sense of panic rushes through him.

Dean’s there, fucking blowing glass like it’s no biggie, and he smiles at Castiel as he enters.

“Yeah, I’m going to leave now,” Castiel says. He does absolutely nothing to do that, because all his brain wants to think about is how Dean’s here, and what it would feel like if he asked him to join.

“Do you know what made me become a glassblower?”

Castiel huffs. “I don’t know. Blowing.”

Dean hums. “Almost. I didn’t have a decent father figure, nor did I have friends that could’ve pointed me towards good things to do in your life, but I did have a meaningful encounter when I was 10.”

“Good for you. So, I’m leaving.”

“There was a boy,” Dean says, his eyes firmly on the piece of glass he’s currently adding color on. “He wanted me to show him the way to the station. I thought he was a traveler who was lost, because Sanan sometimes has tourists… But I was wrong.”

Castiel frowns. His feet are glued to the ground.

“I should’ve probably told this boy I was shitty at directions. I was so bad at them I just got us both lost, and suddenly, we were in a forest and it was night and we heard wolves.”

“At least ten of them,” Castiel mutters. Dean looks up at him and flashes a smile.

“And then we found a shack and entered it. It was not much, but as it turned out, it had been a glassblowing workshop once. Then we just hung out there until the sun rose again and I knew which way the station was.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, “this doesn’t make sense.”

“Imagine how I felt when I realized I’d helped the Crown Prince of Sanan escape. In case you wonder when that happened, it was four hours ago. I am now officially banished from Sanan, and am to never return.”

Castiel lowers his gaze and takes a seat on the chair nearby. His luggage stays put, handle pulled up, ready to set off.

He thinks back to that night — it isn’t lost on him, because he cherishes the memory. He has always thought it was his best memory of Sanan; how, when he was leaving, he found someone who wanted to help him out. How safe he’d felt in the shack even though there were wolves around, because the boy had been bright and smiling and made jokes. He tries to think about how that eventually lead him to feel safe in glassblowing workshops in Canada, too — how he was found in one and the entities came, or how he’s spent time at Rufus’ place.

“How long have you known I’m a prince?” he asks, hesitantly. He wants Dean to tell him the truth, but he absolutely doesn’t want to hear it if it is something along the lines of from the very start.

“As long as you have known I’m a Winchester. You know, when we first met and I saw you do the L’oiseau routine, I wanted to ask you about the crest. Imagine how differently things would’ve happened.”

Castiel lets out a joyless laugh. “Yes. You’d sent me away, everyone in the circus would’ve probably died because of the demons, and I would’ve never —”

Dean glances at him, trying to read what the unfinished sentence is. Castiel refuses to give anything away.

“I wouldn’t have sent you away. I realize now that was the choice I was faced with. I wouldn’t have been so up my own ass I would’ve decided what’s best for you.”

“If I recall correctly, you didn’t have a lot of choice. You mentioned you’re in a difficult situation.”

“Well, yeah. I thought Sam would lose his spot at the royal justice court. Turns out, he wants to travel the world instead.”

“I have a twin brother.”

Dean blinks. “Huh?”

“Yes. Apparently, he’s going to be king. I am just now realizing it means that I don’t have to run away anymore.”

“I don’t know. Running might be nice. Road trips are nice.”

Castiel’s eyes travel to the sculpture Dean made on their first night together. How different things are now. How much less tied to a rock he is, how much less sand running through his body.

Dean had truly seen him all along.

“Maybe,” he says, slowly. “I need a guide.”

“That’s something that can be arranged.”

“I can’t promise you I’ll marry you, though.”

“Consider our engagement cancelled, then. The next time you’ll be proposed to, it’ll be out of love,” Dean says, completely unashamed, and winks. He’s a dork, and Castiel loves every bit of it.

“Sounds nice,” Castiel says, and it doesn’t even begin to describe the joy he feels in his heart. There’s a lot of worry there, too, but he’s ready to make a new selfish decision and let himself enjoy things. Dean’s helped him a lot with that, and knowing it fills him with gratefulness.

 

 *

 

They board a train after driving to Quebec.

Dean’s got the same suitcase, but that’s pretty much the only thing that’s the same. Now, he’s leaving town, not to look for someone but to get lost; he’s leaving Grand Falls behind for good, and most importantly, he’s not alone.

Castiel’s walking on his side as they reach the train station. He’s smiling, his eyes are twinkling like the first stars of the night, and in addition to all of his most important belongings, he’s packed thirty meters of crimson bondage rope.

Dean’s a little sad to leave Charlie behind; however, she just brushed him off with a laugh and told him she’ll be too busy with two girlfriends to hang out with him anyway. They’d promised to keep in touch and send selfies – something Dean will have to learn how to master.

He’s not even sure where the train will take them – out of the circus, out of the country, maybe even to a cruiser that’ll take them out of the continent. For the first time in what feels like forever, Dean feels like the world is open and he’s ready to let it come to him. He can’t imagine how much better it must be for Castiel – to be free not only from space, but time. They’re ready to go explore, live, and fall in love.


End file.
